


Singer & Winchester's Home for Wayward Hunters

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: Collaborations: jennytork and San Antonio Rose [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Bang Challenge, Chuck is not God, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Gen, Jessica Moore Lives, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick John Winchester, Smart Dean Winchester, Supernatural Gen Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29938200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: It starts with a phone call. It ends with a hole in John's head. Along the way, Bobby winds up playing host to the wildest, most rag-tag bunch of greenhorns imaginable: an ex-dentist, a hacker, a psychic and an injured, mulleted genius. And then there are John's boys, one dealing with chronic illness, the other being hounded by Hell itself. It's a twist of fate that may end up saving not just John but also his sons--and then some. Whoever said you can't choose your family never set foot in Singer & Winchester's Home for Wayward Hunters. (Co-written with jennytork.)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Collaborations: jennytork and San Antonio Rose [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094930
Kudos: 1





	1. Scruffy-Lookin' Nerf Herders

**Author's Note:**

> JSYK, certain points of lore and timeline in this fic are deliberately AU.

It started, appropriately enough, with a call from one Garth Fitzgerald IV. “Mr. Singer? I... I think I just killed the Tooth Fairy.”

“You... what?”

“I’m a dentist, and I... oh, gosh, I don’t know how to explain it, it all happened so fast....”

“Look, where are you?”

“I’m—N-Nashville.” He babbled an address.

“I have a friend who’s close by. He can be there in four hours. Lock it down, don’t let anyone in. He’ll be in a big black Impala.” With that, he hung up and dialed John’s number.

And John’s reply was completely predictable: “You want me to WHAT?”

“At least check it out. He sounded really rattled.”

“Well, why _me_?”

“You’re the closest.”

Bobby could almost hear John roll his eyes on the other end.

“Just check it out.”

“All right, _fine_. But you owe me for this one.”

He gave John the address. Still grumbling, John hung up.

Three days later, John and Dean turned up in Sioux Falls with a scrawny guy who looked to be about Dean’s age—and scared out of his wits.

Bobby opened the door. “What you doing here?”

“Garth here is a certifiable genius,” John stated. “Emphasis on _certifiable_.”

Garth flinched.

“He didn’t just gank the Tooth Fairy,” Dean explained. “He ganked the Tooth Fairy on the summer solstice, and now he’s got half the fae in Tennessee out for his blood.”

“Damn, you don’t do things halfway, do you?” Bobby sighed.

“I didn’t know,” Garth whimpered.

“Get in here, tell me your story. Here... have a beer.”

Garth took the beer and guzzled it gratefully as John pushed him through the door. “Oh, boy. I needed that.” Then he hiccupped and swayed a little on his way into Bobby’s living room.

Bobby sat him down and looked at John. “Tell me.”

John glanced at Garth, who was drinking the rest of his beer, and sighed. “Says he doesn’t even remember what he said, but the fairy turned up to gather some old teeth out of the trash and he caught her. Said the wrong thing, and... poof.”

“I di’n’ know,” Garth slurred and sniffled. “I di’n’ meanta... poor fairy....”

Dean rolled his eyes and said, “I’m goin’ to bed.” Then he headed up the stairs to his old room.

“An’ th’kids... all th’li’l kids—how they gonn’ grow up in a worl’ without no Tooth Fairy?” Garth let out something between a sob and a hiccup. “Izz all my fault!”

“Garth... you need sleep. Go rest. Upstairs to the left, third door.”

“Okay.” Garth sniffled and hiccupped, then wobbled up out of the chair—but faceplanted on the stairs.

Bobby got him up and into the right room, then came down the stairs and sighed in John’s general direction.

John sighed back. “Told him we’d bring him here, keep him safe while we figure out what to do for him.”

“Still owe you that rear full of buckshot. How’s Dean doin’?”

“He’s all right. Thinks I don’t know he snuck off to see Sammy last month.”

Bobby grinned despite himself. “And how’s _he_ doin’?”

“Still growin’ like a weed, if you can believe it. Grades are good. Looks like he might have found himself a girlfriend.” And John smiled in spite of himself. “Pre-law. Way he always argued with me, he’ll be a damn good lawyer.”

Bobby grinned at him, then sobered. “You’re exhausted. When’s the last time you had a good rest or a good meal?”

John’s sigh was all the answer Bobby needed.

“I got some chili left over and am gonna make a grocery run in the mornin’. And I got a bed with your name on it.”

“Chili sounds good. Got more beer? I don’t even care if it’s got holy water in it,” John added with an amused glance at the bottle Garth had left behind, having not even noticed it was spiked.

“Finish his.”

“No, thanks. I don’t even finish Dean’s anymore. Besides...” John picked up the bottle and checked. “Yup, Garth drank all of his.”

“Why don’t you finish Dean’s?”

“Hell, he’s a grown man now. And... he came down with mono a few months back, caught it from one of his girlfriends.”

“And he’s still hunting?”

“Don’t you lecture me, Singer. We laid low for two weeks until he was back on his feet, and I stuck him on research duty for another two weeks after that.”

“He’s still not over it, is he?”

“He is well enough to hunt, with a few trips to Palo Alto on the side. And may I remind you—”

They were interrupted by the telephone.

Bobby picked it up. “Singer.”

“Mr. Singer?” said a scared young female voice. “My name’s Ch-Charlie Bradbury. Jo Harvelle gave me your number. Um... I... think I just killed a werewolf?”

“Oh, Lord. Kid, listen—this is vital. Did it bite you?”

“No? I mean, it d-didn’t get close enough. I don’t even know how I got hold of a silver-tipped arrow. I just—see, I’m a LARPer....”

“Okay, kid, listen. If you know Jo Harvelle, get to her mother’s bar and stay there till you can get on your feet.”

“I can’t. I’m... kind of wanted in Nebraska. N-not for murder or anything,” she hastened to add. “I stole a video game.”

“Where are you?”

“Minneapolis.”

“Get on a bus and get to South Dakota. Sioux Falls.”

“Okay. Okay. Sioux Falls, gotcha.”

“Call me when you get here.” He hung up and ran a hand over his face.

“Another one?” John asked.

“Another one. You need sleep.”

John sighed. “Can I eat first?”

“Yup.”

John headed to the fridge. “Where’s the bus comin’ from?”

“Minneapolis.”

“So it’ll be getting in... about four hours from now?”

“Six.”

“Mm.” John pulled out the chili and headed for the stove.

Bobby sighed and sat across from him when he got the food. “Anythin’ you wanna tell me?”

“Bobby....”

“No, I’m serious.”

John sighed. “I think I’m getting close.”

“To the demon.”

John nodded. “I’m still working out how to track it, still trying to get a line on the Colt. But I don’t think it’ll be long.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘then what’? Then I kill it, that’s what!”

“After that.”

John blinked a couple of times. “I....”

“Better think on that, keep that in mind. Make after your goal.”

“I mean, I know what I want for the boys. Sammy should get to finish his schooling, and Dean... Dean needs a home. He tries so hard, but I know, deep down, he wants to settle, put down some roots, maybe get married.”

“What do you want for you, John?”

John looked absolutely lost and couldn’t answer.

“I suggest you think tonight on it.”

“I don’t know if I can,” John confessed quietly. “There’s still so much I’ve got to do first. So many battles to fight. I can’t... I didn’t get through ’Nam dreaming about what would come after.”

Bobby tapped his fingers on John’s hand. “You need something to keep you going. That’s all I’m saying. Don’t go in there expecting to die.”

John ran a hand over his face and dug into the chili without another word.

“Go rest,” Bobby ordered when he was done.

John sighed and trudged upstairs.

Bobby watched him go and then dialed the phone again. “Elkins? Singer. We need to talk.”

* * *

Charlie turned out to be a petite redhead, about Jo’s age, who dragged herself off the bus and over to his Chevelle when he picked her up shortly after midnight. She looked exhausted and shaken, and she dozed off between the bus station and the salvage yard. He woke her up to get her in the house.

“Thanks, Mr. Singer,” she said as she followed him inside. “I really woulda gone to Jo’s mom were it not for the whole video game thing.”

“There’s a cot in the dining room. Go rest.”

She nodded and started that way, then paused. “Oh, hey, is there, like, any computer work I could do to pay you back? I’m wanting to go into IT anyway, and it would look good on my resume if I, like, had a real reference to go with my skill set.”

He smiled. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“‘Kay. Just... y’know, wanna earn my keep.” She smiled back and all but collapsed on the cot.

He went into the living room and curled up on the couch. And five minutes later he heard a car door slam, followed by limping footsteps crossing the porch toward the door. Bobby got up and opened the back door before the dogs could start up.

Ash looked up at him, his sleepy eyes twice as droopy as usual and his mullet matted with blood. “I messed up, Bobby,” he said miserably.

“What happened?”

“Ghost got the jump on me. I barely got the bones burned. I’s headed home, but I cain’t see straight....”

“Get in here.”

Ash limped through the door and had to catch himself on the desk.

“You can barely see at all, can’t you?”

“Ah di’n’ think Ah hit ma haid that hard....” His drawl was ten times thicker than normal.

“Go rest. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

Ash nodded and tried to push off the desk, but his arm gave out. “Why’on’ Ah jus’ sleep here?”

“Yes. On this cot.”

“Ah mean’ th’desk....” But he didn’t get to explain further. His eyes fluttered shut, and his knees buckled.

Bobby tucked him in.

And just then Dean came downstairs. “Hey, Bobby. You got any sandwich stuff? I’m starvin’.”

Bobby got him some. “Heard you been sick.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gettin’ over it. Who are they?” Dean nodded toward the cots.

Bobby introduced the sleepers.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “What is this, some kind of home for wayward hunters?”

“That’s what I’m starting to think.” Bobby yawned.

“Dude, you go get some rest. I’ll take concussion duty for Lynyrd Skynyrd over here.”

He shook his head. “I got a package comin’.” But he yawned again.

“Bobby, it’s one in the mornin’. Go. I got this. Garth keeps cryin’ in his sleep; I can’t sleep up there anyway.”

Bobby nodded—and went.

Six hours later, he woke with a start and wove his way downstairs, following the smell of coffee. Dean was hard at work at the stove, and Charlie was mixing something just out of his elbow room. Ash was asleep, but someone had at least washed the blood out of his hair.

“Hey,” Bobby said as he walked in.

“Morning,” Dean and Charlie chorused.

“Smells good.” He nodded toward Ash. “How’d he do?”

“Dinged pretty good,” Dean reported, “but he’ll rouse all right. In fact, it’s about time to check him again.”

Bobby shook his shoulder. “Hey. Hey.”

Ash startled awake. “’Sit closin’ time?”

“Close enough.”

Ash drew in a deep breath and blinked at Bobby a couple of times. Then he relaxed. “Hey, Bobby.”

“Hey, son. Your head must hurt like a bitch.”

“Nnngh... worse’n a Jaeger hangover. ’S why I stick to PBR.”

Bobby pats his shoulder. “Think you can make it up the stairs now?”

Ash sat partway up, hissed, and lay down again. “No can do, amigo.”

“Then rest.”

Ash nodded and relaxed.

Bobby drifted back over to Dean. “Much longer and I’m gettin’ him to a doctor.”

“Don’t think it’s just his head,” Dean replied. “Cracked rib, minimum, and he did somethin’ to his leg, too. Dunno if it’s hospital-bad.”

“Yeah, forget longer. We’ll go soon as I get food in me.”

“You want me to take him? We still got Charlie and Garth to get settled.”

“Nah, you’re still recovering. You and your dad can get Garth settled while I’m there.”

“Um,” said Charlie. “What about me?”

Dean smiled at her. “You’re helping me.”

She smiled back at him, a little shyly but still pleased.

Bobby ate quickly, then lifted Ash in lieu of waking him and carried him to the Chevelle—just in time for John to come down the stairs and see this.

John frowned. “What the....”

“Tangled with a ghost and got his bell rung but good. We’re heading to the doctor. Need you to stay and take care of Garth.”

John grimaced, but Bobby was out the door before he could object.

He drove right to the hospital and carried Ash into the ER. It seemed to be a slow morning; the staff got to him right away.

“What happened here?” the doctor asked as Bobby carried Ash into the examining room.

“The ass tried to stop vandals in a cemetery and got worked over,” Bobby said.

The doctor hissed sympathetically and examined Ash thoroughly while Bobby stood by. After CAT scans and X-rays, the doctor found that Ash did indeed have several cracked ribs, plus a badly wrenched knee and hip.

“I don’t think we need to admit him,” he concluded, “but he’ll be in no fit state to travel for several weeks, even if he’s not the one driving.”

Bobby groaned. “Good thing I got the room.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Singer. I wish I had better news for you. But his injuries could have been far worse, and at least he had you to turn to. If you need any help looking after him, though, let us know.”

“Will do. Thanks.” He shook the doctor’s hand and carried Ash to the car again.

“‘M sorry, Bobby,” Ash woke up enough to whisper as they pulled out of the parking lot. “Shoulda called backup. Rookie mistake.”

“Well, it’s one you won’t make again. I’ll lay money on that.”

Ash snorted. “If’n I can still walk good’nuff to try again. You called Mama Ellen?”

“Gonna when we get home.”

“‘Kay. Thanks.” And Ash dozed off again.

Bobby carried Ash back into the house and laid him on the cot again.

He had just finished giving the others the news when Garth, looking definitely hung over, stumbled down the stairs, surveyed the scene, and asked, “What’d I miss?”

* * *

John and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, not speaking, with Bobby spinning the mobile phone instead of dialing.

It rang in mid-spin. Ellen’s number showed on the screen.

Bobby sighed and put her on speaker. “Hey, Ellen.”

“Bobby? You heard from Ash? He was up your way on a salt ’n’ burn last night, but he hasn’t checked in with me.”

“He’s here. Ghost was a bit more aggressive than he thought—rang his bell but good, broke his rib, badly wrenched knee and hip.”

Ellen swore. “Can I talk to him?”

“He’s asleep right now,” Bobby said.

She sighed. “All right. When do you think he’ll be up to calling?”

Bobby looked at John. “Tomorrow, you think?”

John hesitated. “Yeah. Likely. Hey, Ellen.”

“... John?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“You two made up, then?”

He shrugged. “At least a truce. Had to bring someone here from Nashville for safe keeping—kid got crosswise with the fae.”

She hissed. “And the boys?”

“Dean’s here. Sam’s...” John took a deep breath. “Sam’s at Stanford.”

“Well,” Ellen said. “I’m damn proud of him.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Hope you told him.”

“Maybe someday I’ll get the chance.”

“Don’t wait,” Ellen said. “Never know when someday is too late.”

“You don’t understand. The night he left, I... we fought. I gave him an ultimatum. And... and he left.”

Ellen was silent for a moment, then she said, “Fix it.”

“I-I don’t know if I can. And besides, I’ve got a line on the demon. Once I fix that, then....”

“John. This is your _boy_.”

“My boy who the demon’s after! Once I know he’s safe, then we can try to patch things up.”

“Does he know the demon’s after him?”

“No. And if I have anything to say about it, he never will.”

Ellen swore. “John, you’re all but using him as BAIT!”

“Ellen, don’t you DARE—”

“Wuzzalla yellin’ fer?” Ash interrupted from the cot.

Bobby took him the phone and then leaned over, hissing in John’s ear, “Get that stick outta your ass. She’s right and you know it.”

“I don’t need anyone to tell me how to handle my sons,” John snarled quietly.

“She wasn’t. Neither am I. But it’s a fact.”

Whatever John was going to say next, it was preempted by his realization that Ash wasn’t the only one talking to Ellen. So was Charlie—and Garth—and... aw, _hell_....

Bobby nodded.

“No, Sam’s fine,” Dean was saying. “Pre-law, the big nerd.”

Then he saw Dean straighten and slowly turn his way, his features shuttering. And he knew he’d suddenly lost a major part of the war.

“No,” Dean said. “He didn’t tell me. He didn’t tell me any of that.”

John’s heart sank.

“Thanks, Ellen. Maybe someday I’ll meet you, too.”

Dean hung up and brought the phone back to Bobby. Then he turned to John. “Listen, Dad, I think Bobby could use a hand herding cats around here for a while. Why don’t I stay? You can get back to... looking for the thing that killed Mom.”

“He’s staying,” Bobby said.

John frowned. “I am?”

Bobby nodded. “Least for a couple of days.”

“Bobby....”

“Where are you gonna go to find this thing?” Bobby asked.

“That’s none of your concern,” John snarled.

“In other words, you don’t know. I’m givin’ you a chance to use my resources, find it.”

“I don’t need your help. And even if I did, you think I could work with all this going on?” John gestured toward the living room, where Garth and Charlie were conversing quietly about classic video games.

“Yup. Cause you’re gettin’ off this suicide track right here, right now.”

“Who you callin’ suicidal, you old—”

“You,” Dean said, coldly. “You’ve been keepin’ secrets, old man. It stops.”

“Dean, you don’t need to know.”

His hands slapped the table in front of his father and his voice was low and very dangerous. “It. Involves. _Sammy_. I _need_. To know.”

“I am doing everything within my power to make sure that thing comes nowhere near your brother. That’s all that matters where you’re concerned.”

“I am not having this fight with you now,” Dean growled.

“No. You’re not. Because you’re staying, and I’m leaving.” And before anyone could protest further, John started for the back door...

... only to run smack into a thin, bearded young man with curly brown hair and blue eyes that widened in terror as he fell back several steps with a shriek. “Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Winchester—I’m sorry—I never woulda written it if I’d known....”

“... what the hell....” he gasped.

But the poor guy just kept babbling that he was sorry until John dragged him into the living room and shut him up by giving him a glass of holy water to drink.

No smoke. No black eyes. Just a babbler.

Garth finally got the first word in edgewise. “Dude, slow down. I don’t think any of us know what you’re talking about. What did you write?”

“My novel,” the guy said. “My name’s Chuck Shurley, but my pen name’s Carver Edlund.”

John frowned. “What novel is that and why should we care about me hurting you?”

“It’s the first in a series called _Supernatural_. _Woman in White_ is the title, and... it’s—it’s about what happened to your wife and what maybe is going to happen to Sam.” At John’s scowl, Chuck continued, “I didn’t know any of it was real, I swear. I just had these dreams, and they wouldn’t stop until I wrote ’em down.”

“What is going to happen to Sam?”

“The demon’s going to kill his girlfriend.”

“When?” John demanded.

“I-I-I don’t know. He, um—it was November 2, and he had a law school interview the next day. But I... I don’t know if that’s this year, next year....”

“He’s got a year,” Dean piped up. “Four years of pre-law and then the interview.”

“Wuz so special ’bout Novemmer?” Ash asked muzzily.

“Everything,” Dean told him. “Go back to sleep.

“No, ’m _not_ goin’ backa sleep. This soun’s impor’n’.”

“It’s when our mother was killed.”

“And the demon’s going to kill Jess the same way,” Chuck added. “Staged to look exactly the same, down to the nightgown.”

Dean clamped a hand on John’s arm. “We got a year.”

John ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know if I’m that close. We’ve got to get them off the radar—Sam, at least, and his girl if we can.”

“We’ll help,” said Charlie, taking a step forward. “I mean—I don’t know what we can do, but we can’t do nothing when somebody’s life is at stake, right?”

Dean nodded. “First thing, we research. We find out everything we know and everything out there about this thing and then we work on a plan. You, Tiny, you know things, right? You’re resource #1.”

Chuck gulped. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.”

Dean nodded, then turned to his father. “Anything to add?”

John ran a hand through his hair. “Place is gettin’ kind of crowded, isn’t it? I can’t imagine Bobby wants all six of us in his house long-term.”

Bobby nodded. “We’ll find someplace.”

And suddenly Dean had an idea.


	2. Oh, Give Me A Home

“S AND W HOME FOR” said the Caller ID on the unfamiliar number when Sam’s phone rang a week or so later, while he was on vacation with Jess.

He frowned, picking it up. “... hello?”

“Don’t hang up, Sammy,” came a familiar voice from the other end.

“Dean?” He pulled the phone away and frowned before putting it back to his ear. “... what number is this?”

“Singer & Winchester’s Home for Wayward Hunters. It’s a new thing Dad and I are doing with Bobby. We’ve already got two green kids, a psychic, and a guy who got beat to hell by a ghost, and... well, Jess needs someplace to do a nursing residency, right?”

“Yeah, someplace _legal_. Dean, I can’t believe you would call me with a cock-and-bull—”

“GARTH!” Bobby yelped in the background and started cussing a blue streak.

Seconds later, there was a minor explosion, and Dean sighed. “It’s real, dude. And we need you.”

Sam paused. “You... you really _are_ at Bobby’s?”

“You damned idjit,” Bobby was yelling, “I TOLD you not to touch anything!”

Sam found himself laughing, not noticing Jess had come in behind him. “Wait... Dean, Dad was the one who told me I should stay gone if I left.”

“Yeah, well—wait, what the—Charlie?!” There was a scuffling noise, and a cat meowed loudly into the phone. “DAMMIT, GARTH, CHANGE HER BACK!”

“Mowowowow,” said the cat.

“Hang on, Sammy!” The phone dropped. There was some yelling, some unintelligible things, then the sound of the phone picking up.

And two words only. “Hey, Sammy.”

Dad.

Sam gulped. “Hey, Dad.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me—but this is on the level.” He huffed. “I barely believe it myself.”

“Hey, hey,” said another unfamiliar voice in the background. “Watch the hair, Red!”

John huffed again. “Lemme get somewhere quieter, hold on.” A moment later there was the sound of a door closing and then his father’s voice was clearer. “Okay, I’m outside.”

“Dad... what the hell’s going on? And why do you need us? I... I thought....”

“Yeah, well, your old man’s a certifiable fool.”

Sam snorted.

“No argument, huh?” And was John actually—chuckling?

“Can’t think of one, sir.” Sam paused. “Are... are you and Dean okay?”

“We are. Damn kid’s worse than a general when it comes to taking care of us.”

Sam chuckled. “I bet.”

“He’s makin’ sure we all sleep and eat, and the damn kid even threw out my booze.” John sounded all of ten, and Sam could picture him with a pooched out lip.

And Sam couldn’t help laughing. “Seriously, Dad, why do you need Jess and me? I mean, yeah, it sounds pretty chaotic, but...”

“Dean thinks that Jess would need some practical work for her nurse’s training, and we need help setting up the clinic.”

“Clinic? What sort of clinic?”

“Standard medical—with a few things to treat supernatural injuries.”

Sam sighed. “Dad....”

“Yeah, Sam?”

Just then Jess put her hand on Sam’s back, and he started. Then he sighed again. “Look, let me talk it over with her. I’ll call back in a while.”

“This number. Don’t be long.” And he hung up.

“Sam?” Jess asked as Sam stared at the phone in his hand. “What is it?”

“That... uh... that was my dad.”

“I gathered that. You said something about a clinic?”

“I don’t... get it myself, Jess.”

“Well, what did he say?”

Sam gave her that look that showed that it was treading too close to one of his precious secrets. He took a deep breath. “I... he wants you to help set up the clinic.”

She nodded, clearly considering it. “What makes you so hesitant?”

“It’s... there’s things you don’t know about. Complications.”

“Like?”

“Well, some of the injuries aren’t exactly....” He cringed. “... natural?”

“You mean, we’d be dealing with victims of violence?”

“Yeah... but... not caused by... humans.”

Jess sighed. “Look, Sam, you know I want to work with the underprivileged, at least while I’m in school. Why can’t we just give it a try in the name of community service?”

Sam actually flinched.

“I think that’s a bad idea, Jess,” said another voice from behind them suddenly.

Sam sighed in relief. “See? Brady agrees with me.”

But Jess grabbed hold of Sam’s arm. “Brady, how the hell did you get in here?”

“I walked in,” Brady said. “You left the door open.”

“No. I didn’t. I _locked_ the door.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. Without them seeing, he opened his phone and hit ‘last received’.

“And don’t claim you have a key, because you don’t. Not to the keyless deadbolt and the burglar chain.”

Someone had picked up on the other end. Sam put it on speaker and said, “You got in through a locked door. You think it’s a bad idea to go to my dad’s place—full of _hunters_. Jess, come here beside me.”

Jess edged closer to Sam. “Hunters? What do you mean, hunters? Sam, what’s going on?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” He pulled her behind him and growled, “You’re not Brady, are you?”

Brady chuckled—a cold, cruel chuckle. “Very good, Sammy. You’re not as dumb as you look. Too bad you had to figure it out ahead of schedule.” And his eyes suddenly turned inky black.

“Black eyes!” Sam yelled. “What the HELL!”

And from the phone, Dad’s voice bellowed, “ _Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_....”

The creature growled, glaring toward the phone. Sam pushed Jess toward the nearest window and kept himself between her and the creature, holding the phone out as Dad kept reciting the exorcism. At the end, something black and howling ripped from Brady’s throat and sank into the ground. And Brady himself collapsed, unconscious.

Sam asked, “Is it safe now?” He described what he’d just seen.

“Yeah, it’s safe for now,” Dad replied. “Jess, check on him.”

Sam nodded and Jess ran to his side, feeling for a pulse.

“It’s weak,” she reported. “He’s barely breathing. We need to get him to the hospital.”

“We’re coming,” Dad said. “We’ll meet you there in eight hours.”

“You don’t even know where we are,” Sam yelped. “We’re at a ski resort in Colorado....”

“I know.” Dad sounded a little embarrassed. “The guy who’s hurt, Ash, he... tracked the GPS on your phone for me.”

Sam sighed. “Fine. See you then.” He hung up and called for the doctor.

Jess ran to unlock the door. When she came back, though, she asked, “Sam... what... what was that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But that... that was an exorcism.”

“... exorcism? Like... _demons_?”

“I don’t _know_ , Jess.”

“You s-s-said... injuries that weren’t caused by humans. You meant _this_ kind of thing, didn’t you?”

Sam looked absolutely miserable as he nodded.

Jess bit her lip and checked Brady’s vital signs again. “Your dad,” she said then, not looking up. “He fights these things, doesn’t he?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Sam said in a voice that she knew was him telling the absolute truth. “But yeah... he does.”

“And... the clinic... it’s for people like your dad.”

“I don’t know. But I think so.”

Her hand was shaking as she brushed Brady’s hair back from his forehead. “They... they’d make it as safe as they could, right? So people could have a chance to recover?”

“I think that’s why he needs us both there.”

The doctor arrived then. Sam did most of the talking, passing Brady’s condition off as possibly the result of drug use but not trying to fill in gaps that they genuinely couldn’t know.

When the doctor left with Brady, Jess stood apart, hugging herself and shaking.

“Jess, I’m sorry,” Sam said then, going to her. “I never wanted you to get dragged into all this. I... I thought....”

“Go on,” she said, softly.

“I thought I was out. I thought we were safe.”

“He was a monster.”

“He was. And I don’t know what he wanted.”

She looked up at him, but did not move to his arms. “So we wait for your dad.”

“And hope like hell he has answers.”

* * *

Sam happened to be looking out the window when he saw the Impala pull into the resort. “They’re here,” he announced.

Moments later, John’s coded knock sounded at the door. Sam opened the door—and was nearly knocked over by Dean bursting in to pull him into a rough hug. He gasped, returning the hug. Only then did he start to shake.

“Sammy, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Dean sighed in relief and let him go. “And Jess?”

Sam nodded toward the bed, where she was sleeping.

“She—she’s okay? She’s not hurt?”

“She’s not hurt.” Sam shook her shoulder. “Jess... Dean’s here.”

As Jess groaned and stirred, Sam turned to find John hesitating just inside the door.

“Dad,” he said softly, putting himself between John and Jess.

John’s eyes glittered with unshed tears as he walked further into the room. “Sam. Been a long time.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then, to Sam’s very great shock, John hugged him. “I’m sorry, son. We thought we had more time.”

“Time for what?” He couldn’t return the hug.

“To get you and Jess off the demon’s radar.”

“Why were we on it to begin with?”

John backed away to arm’s length. “I don’t know the full story yet, but... it’s to do with the demon that killed your mother.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he nodded.

Jess asked, “A demon killed his mother?”

John turned to her. “Yes. The night he turned exactly six months old. And we just found out last week that the demon was planning to kill you the same way—but we thought it wouldn’t happen for another year. That’s what the one in your friend meant when he said Sam had figured things out ahead of schedule.”

Sam spread his hands. “But we hadn’t figured anything out!”

“You figured out that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. That in itself was a threat to the plan. But don’t ask me what the plan was, Sammy. Like I said, I don’t know the full story yet.”

“Is this more of your need to know crap?”

“I don’t know why it wanted Jess dead. I do know that I want the two of you safe. And I wasn’t lying about needing you both at the Home—Garth nearly aggravated Ash’s concussion in the process of reversing the curse he’d accidentally cast on Charlie.”

“Who the—”

Dean shook his head. “They’re friends.”

“Please, Sam,” said John, and Sam had never seen his eyes so full of naked worry. “Please come back to Sioux Falls with us.”

“You’re the one who told me to stay gone!”

“Like I said, I’m a certifiable fool.”

He turned to her. “Jess?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this. All I know is, I want to be somewhere safe. And if—if Brady’s been—all this time—” She shivered. “I don’t know if there’s anyone at Stanford we can trust.”

Sam nodded sadly.

She turned to Dean. “And you said your friend has a concussion?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and broken ribs and his hip is messed up.”

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Okay. I can deal with that kind of thing.”

“When do we leave?” Sam asks.

“If you’re rested?” John replied. “Now.”

Sam nodded and—to Jess’s shock—picked up their suitcases from the corner.

“You guys have a vehicle?”

“No, sir, we rented one from the airport.”

“Call the rental agency, then. You can leave the key at the desk when you check out of here.”

Sam dialed.

Jess frowned.

“You’ll be riding with us,” Dean explained. “Our car’s got plenty of leg room, believe me.”

“All right,” Jess said slowly.

Sam scooped up the rental keys. “Okay.”

“Let’s go,” John said.

And Jess found herself very securely escorted out of the room, with Sam on one side, Dean on the other, and John taking point. Sam turned in the keys and then got into the massive black muscle car. Dean held the door for Jess.

She climbed in beside Sam. “Sweet car,” she said.

He smiled wryly. “Yeah, she—it is. Closest thing to a home I’ve ever had before I came to Stanford.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “You mean... you were homeless?”

“We had to travel a lot.”

“Because of... this?” she waved a hand to indicate the world.

“Yeah. Maybe more so than I knew,” he added quietly.

Jess took his hand and squeezed.

Then Dean got into the driver’s seat and John settled into shotgun, and they were off.

By the time they arrived at Bobby’s house, with John driving, all three younger passengers were sound asleep. Bobby met John at the back door. Chuck and Garth had already moved out to the cabin that was serving as the first phase of the Home, but Charlie and Ash were still in the main house.

“How’d it go?” Bobby asked.

“They’re in the car,” John replied.

“Jess, too?”

John nodded. And his yawn seemed to crack his jaw.

“Go on to bed, Jarhead. I’ll get the kids.”

John nodded and headed to his room.

Bobby went out to the car and knocked gently on Dean’s window. Dean opened his eyes and smiled to see Bobby’s face. He leaned over the seat and gently shook Sam.

Sam startled awake but relaxed when he realized where he was. Then he rubbed Jess’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. We’re here.”

She opened her eyes and slowly got out of the car—freezing when she saw Bobby. “... Sam?”

“This is Bobby Singer. He’s a friend of the family.”

Bobby pulled off his cap and nodded. “Ma’am.”

“Mr. Singer,” she said, nevertheless taking Sam’s hand.

“You kids eaten yet? I sent John on to bed, but I’ve got bacon I could fry up for BLTs if you’re hungry.”

Sam’s eyes lit. “BLTs?”

“You had me at bacon,” Dean quipped.

They went inside, Jess looking around wide-eyed. She absently took the bottle Bobby gave her and drank deeply, licking her lips.

“Now give her one without holy water,” Dean said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Precaution,” Bobby said with a grin.

“Holy water?” Jess asked.

“Just makin’ sure you ain’t possessed,” Bobby replied. “Holy water burns demons.”

“It tastes a little... floral.”

Sam blinked. “Really?”

“Really, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam paused. “Just to be thorough, Bobby, maybe I should....”

“Should?” Jess asked.

Bobby handed Sam the holy water, and Sam drank. No reaction. Dean did the same.

No reaction.

Bobby went upstairs with a bottle, going to get John to drink.

“What?” John groaned as Bobby shook him.

“Easy, just need you to take a drink for me.”

Grumbling, John took the bottle and drank.

Bobby grinned. “There you go.”

“You want me to sleep or doncha?” John grouched as he lay back down.

“Relax, you big dope.”

John’s only answer was a snore.

Downstairs, however, the boys suddenly heard a pained groan and a couple of quiet whispers from another part of the living room.

“What the hell?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded that direction. “Jess, c’mere, meet your patient.”

Jess followed him.

Behind the desk stood two cots. One was empty, and its apparent former occupant, a red-haired girl in her late teens, knelt beside the other, which was occupied by a blond guy with a mullet. Both looked up at her and chorused, “Helloooo, nurse!”

Dean did a double-take. “Seriously, Charlie?”

“What?” Charlie spread her hands. “She’s hot!”

Sam came up behind them. “She’s also _taken_.”

Charlie shrugged. “Hey, nobody’s perfect.” At his expression, she held up a hand. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. You Sam?”

“Yeah. This is my girlfriend, Jess.”

“Lucky guy,” Charlie grinned.

“Dial it down, Charlie, you’re too strong again,” Dean told her.

“Yeah, girl, you’re worse’n me,” Ash teased, ruffling her hair. “An’ I’ll behave, too, Sam. Name’s Ash.”

Jess grinned. “Ash, Charlie. Nice to meet you. Ash, what happened to you?”

“Tangled with a ghost about a week ago. Threw me around pretty good. Concussion’s easin’ off some, but I’m still hurtin’—cracked ribs, wrenched hip an’ knee.”

“Has a doctor seen you?”

“Yeah, day after it happened.”

“Who went with you? I need to know the treatment he prescribed.”

“Bobby did. ’S a—ow—bottle o’ painkillers summers... Bobby’ll know.”

Jess looked at Dean. “Go find Mr. Singer.”

Bobby came down the stairs just then. “Everything okay?”

“Mr. Singer, I need to know what the doctor said so I can treat him.”

Bobby rattled off all of the doctor’s instructions and the name of the painkiller Ash had been prescribed, along with its dosage. A few moments later, she had injected it into his arm and Ash was blinking sleepily.

Charlie ran a hand over her face and sighed. “Guess I’ll try to go back to sleep. Nice to meet you, Jess, and... um... sorry. About earlier.”

She grinned. “Nice to meet you, too, Charlie. Dial it back a little like Dean said, and I get the feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

Charlie smiled and headed back to her own cot, and Bobby led Sam, Dean, and Jess into the kitchen for BLTs.


	3. Mommy and Daddy

Next morning, while Charlie was helping Jess with Ash, Sam wandered through the main house where he had spent long weeks as he grew up. Bobby looked up when he walked into the kitchen. “You look like a man with something on his mind.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “I just... guess I’m having a hard time getting my head around all this.”

“Sit down. Talk to me.”

Sam sat but chewed on his lip for a moment.

“You look absolutely freaked out, Sam.”

“I guess I am. It’s just—Dad, and the hunter house, and some demon was about to kill Jess, and....”

“And?”

“Bobby, I thought I was _out_. Dad told me to stay gone. I had school. I had friends. I had Jess. Looked like I had my whole future on a plate. And... in _one hour_ my whole world got turned upside down, and here I am again. Even Jess—yes, she’s alive, and she’s here, but—my friend Brady, he went off the rails sophomore year. If that’s when he got possessed, that... that means he was possessed when... it-it means a _demon_ introduced me to Jess!”

Bobby nodded. “To get you close to her... kill her... and send you on the road again.”

“But why? Why the hell does it matter so much that I’m a hunter, enough that they’d orchestrate something like that?”

“Did I ever tell you what changed when you were 12?” John said from the doorway, announcing his presence with that question.

Sam turned to him. “No, sir. You hardly ever tell me anything.”

“Yeah, Bobby laid into me for that lately.”

“Didn’t think it’d come back to bite you this quick,” Bobby noted.

“No kidding.” John sank into the chair opposite Sam and ran a hand over his beard.

“So what happened?” Sam asked.

“I found a very talkative demon,” John said softly. “Told me a few things about you. And I didn’t yet know that demons lie—but things seemed to fall in line and I think this one was trying to save its neck by telling me the truth.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean? What truth?”

“Your mother’s murder—it was a surgical strike.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“The demon killed her because she tried to stop him... from bleeding into your mouth and poisoning your blood with his.”

Sam looked even more disturbed than he had before. “What the... why the hell....”

“Near as I can tell, it has something to do with your grand destiny... they intended....” His voice broke. “... to make you the Boy King of Hell.”

“WHAT?!!”

John winced.

“And you BELIEVED that?!”

“I didn’t want to—but it kept cropping up.”

“Dad, why the hell would you think I’d make that kind of choice? You and Dean raised me better than that!”

John smiled, hearing that. Then he sobered. “The blood—it will do things to you. Trigger abilities. Tempt you there.”

“Temptation is not force. I can resist. And I _will_ , Dad.”

John lit up with a grin. “That’s my boy”

“Then again, it’s kind of hard to resist something I don’t even know exists. Couldn’t you have said something sooner? I mean, I don’t regret going to Stanford, but if I’d known something would follow me there....”

“I thought I could kill it before now, and keep you safe, and then we had the fight....”

Sam got up and stalked a short distance away.

John waited. Bobby’s grip on his arm might have had something to do with that.

“Jess could have died from what I didn’t know,” Sam said flatly, not turning around. “Did that ever occur to you?”

John was staggeringly honest. “No.”

Sam turned around then. “Dad, you’ve got to stop keeping secrets. You want to get that demon, fine. Great. Me and Dean, we’ve got just as much reason as you do. Let us help you. Stop putting us and those we love in danger because you think you’re keeping us safe.”

“Especially now,” Bobby said. “It’s not just the three of you. Now there’s three others.”

John sighed. “You shouldn’t have to know about any of it.”

Sam huffed. “It’s too late for that. Twenty years too late.” And he stomped outside.

John closed his eyes.

“What’d I tell ya?” Bobby said quietly.

“Dammit,” John growled. “How do I fix this?”

“Like the boy said. Quit keepin’ secrets and let ’em help you. And don’t you go harin’ off after this thing on your own, either. Hell, if we can keep Sam and Jess here, ward this place to high heaven, demon’s just as likely to turn up here lookin’ for ’em. Not that I’ve changed my views on you usin’ your boys as bait, but....”

“It isn’t usin’ them for bait if the thing shows up on its own.”

“Exactly.”

“So what are you saying?”

Bobby leaned forward. “I’m sayin’ you need to realize that one of the beds in this Home for Wayward Hunters is for you. Idjit.”

John’s eyes went wide and he gasped.

Bobby stood. “You think on that while I go make sure Garth don’t nail himself to a beam puttin’ that roof on.” And he left.

So John was sitting alone at the table, looking stunned, when Sam returned.

Sam frowned. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? I’m not sure. Got a case of the too good to be trues, I suppose.”

“Too good to be true? What about this whole crazy mess could possibly be too good to be true?”

“Bobby said I have a home here.”

Sam blinked.

“That means you boys have a home here.”

“That’s great, I guess, for you and Dean. But I’m going back to school sooner or later. And I’m marrying Jess.”

John sighed deeply. “Help me understand why school is so important to you.”

Sam blinked a couple of times; he hadn’t really tried to formulate a coherent answer to that question since he’d left for Stanford. “Well, I... I want a future that’s not wrapped up in hunting. I want stability and safety. And... I really like learning. I like getting to hang out with people my own age and talk about philosophy and literature and religion. Y’know, intelligent conversation.”

“How much of that did you really get there, though?” John asked him. “The last bit, I mean.”

Sam huffed. “It wasn’t like _Animal House_ , Dad. I went to parties _maybe_ once a month. I had to keep my grades up to keep my scholarship!”

John held up a hand. “I’m trying to understand, Sammy. Not fight. Not this time.”

“Yes, I had lots of intelligent conversation—in class, in study groups, hanging out with my friends. And you know what? We played sports. We went fishing and skiing. We went to ballgames. You know, all the stuff we _never did_ when I was a kid because you were never home!”

“I didn’t know.”

“You di—” Sam jammed a hand into his hair and walked away a couple of steps.

John looked at him. “My entire focus was on finding this bastard and killing him—and then there would be time for me to give you boys a decent life. But... the time vanished.”

Sam rounded on him, arms flung wide. “Why did it have to be either/or, huh? Why couldn’t we put down roots for more than two days? Why did you keep leaving us behind only to show up just when we were getting settled, making friends, finally giving ourselves a chance to be _happy_?”

John took a deep breath. “I suppose I was so intent on avenging your mother and keeping you safe that I forgot you were kids.”

Sam huffed and dropped his arms. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“What... um... what sports do you like?”

“... what?”

“You said... you said you went to ballgames. What kind?”

“... um. Soccer and basketball, mainly. Sometimes football—y’know, the big games, like Homecoming. Never really got into baseball.”

John twisted his wedding ring and said softly, “We loved football and basketball.”

Sam blinked several times. “You mean... you and Mom?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Me and Mary.”

“Um, what... like, college or pro or...”

“College, mostly. She did like her Chiefs, though.”

“Wow. That’s not... I... I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I know,” John sighed. “That’s on me.”

“I mean, I get that it has to be hard to talk about Mom much, but... I don’t remember her at all. And Dean was four.”

“Dean resembles her.”

“In... in what way?”

“His eyes. His hands. The way he glides when he walks. His hair, when he lets it grow.”

“Hasn’t done that in a long time.”

“I know. He’s also got her taste in music and her annoying habit of comparing everything to pop culture references.”

“I thought he got those from you!”

“There’s a reason I play those albums over and over. They were her favorites.”

“Huh. So... so who’s _your_ favorite band?”

John chuckled. “The Beatles.”

“Bull,” said Dean from the doorway, frowning. “The Beatles were Mom’s favorite band. She used to sing me ‘Hey, Jude’ instead of a lullaby.”

“Because I’d sing that to her over the phone to say goodnight.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “When was this?”

“When we were dating.”

“I thought you’d only been dating for a month when you shipped out to ’Nam.”

John nodded. “And we dated for nearly four months after I came back.”

Dean came further into the room. “Lemme get this straight. ‘Hey, Jude’ comes out in the summer of ’68. You sing it to Mom for a month, take off for ’Nam, sing it to her again for four more months before you get married in ’73, and all of a sudden that’s her favorite song?”

John smiled. “Yeah.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you and what have you done with my dad?”

John frowned. “... what?”

“You’re talking about a version of Mom—hell, a version of _Dad_ —that I don’t recognize. At ALL. Not before the fire, not after the fire, ever.”

“Sam wanted to know... what we were like.”

Sam blinked. “Well, yeah, but... you brought Mom up, talking about the sports you liked. All I said was that I had no idea Mom liked football.”

“She did.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed further. “I don’t remember that.”

“Well, we didn’t go much when you were a kid.”

“No, we didn’t go _ever_. And Mom never watched with you and me when the game was on TV.”

“Dean, when you were old enough to remember us watching, she was pregnant with Sam and needed to rest.”

“I don’t believe you.” And Dean drew his gun.

“Whoa, whoa, Dean!” Sam yelped, and that drew Bobby’s attention.

“Sammy, get away from him!”

John slowly rose to his feet. “Dean, this discussion does not warrant a weapons discharge.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Dean snarled. “What have you done with my dad?!”

“Dean, it’s _me_.”

“Prove it!”

“Everything I say you won’t believe.”

“’Cause talk is cheap.”

John nodded.

“Hey, now,” Bobby said, coming in with hands raised. “I tested him with holy water last night, Dean. He’s not possessed.”

“Shifter.”

“All right. Sorry, John.” And Bobby pulled a silver knife and made a shallow but visible cut on John’s arm.

The only reaction was a slight flinch.

Dean wavered. “D-did you test him with salt, too?”

“Test me, Bob.”

Bobby sighed and poured a glass of holy water, added a generous amount of salt, and handed it to John. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” John said, throwing it back. He gagged slightly, but there was no other reaction.

Dean sighed and lowered his gun. “Sorry.”

“If I had been possessed or a shifter, that would have been the right call. No sorries.”

“It’s just... you never talk about Mom. Ever. Especially not when you’re sober.”

“Maybe it’s time I did.”

Dean still looked skeptical, but before he could say anything else, the phone rang.

Bobby answered it. “Singer.”

“Hey, Bobby, it’s Ellen.”

“Hey, Ellen.”

“Thought I’d come up this weekend, check on my boy, if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure, we got the room.”

“... we have?” John asked nervously.

“We have,” Bobby said.

“Is that John’s voice I heard?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah. He and Dean live here with me now.”

Sam’s head snapped wide-eyed to John and Dean. Dean looked just as startled, but also a little pleased.

“No, Ellen, I’m not pullin’ anything!” Bobby sighed.

“Maybe I should—” John began.

“Who’s Ellen?” Sam asked.

John looked at him, and a look of genuine fear was in his eyes.

“Ash’s mom—well, adoptive mom,” Dean stated.

Sam’s mouth quirked. “I gotta meet the lady who caused _that_ reaction in Dad.”

Dean grinned, but John just looked even more nervous.

* * *

The very next morning there was a coded knock on the door. John looked up from his pancakes with an audible gulp. When Bobby walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, he was accompanied by a woman about his age, who was rolling down her sleeve. Sam and Dean stood automatically.

“How polite, thank you.” She looked at them. “You’re John’s boys. Which one is Dean?”

“Uh, I am,” said Dean.

She walked over and frowned at him. Before he could react, the back of her hand was pressed to his cheek and then his forehead. Then she spun to John and slapped him so hard he was knocked out of the chair.

“What was that for?” all three Winchesters chorused.

“I’m a mom, Dean. You think I don’t recognize the signs? You’re sick, have been for a while, and your daddy’s still lettin’ you go on like you’re not?”

“I’m better!” Dean protested.

“Hey, whoa, what are you talking about?” Sam interrupted.

“What is it, mono?” Ellen asked, and Dean automatically looked down. “I thought so. At least go rest on the couch.”

“I’m fine,” Dean insisted again.

“Dean, listen to her,” John said softly.

“But—”

“Wait!” Sam raised his voice. “What is going on?”

“I _had_ mono a couple months ago,” Dean explained. “I’m over it.”

Ellen snorted. “Tell that to that fever you’re runnin’.”

“I am not!” Dean insisted, but Jess was already headed to get a thermometer.

“Jess,” he shook his head even as she inserted it into his ear and waited the twenty seconds for the beep. She turned it and his eyes closed as he saw the 101° reading.

“Dean,” she said, “mono’s not something to mess around with. You need to rest.”

“Fine.”

“I’m serious. You could damage your internal organs if you don’t. Like, if you’re out helping with construction and Garth hits you wrong with a board, your spleen could rupture.”

He paled and swallowed even as Sam took him by the arm and tugged gently.

“Dude,” Sam said. “C’mon. World’s not gonna end if you sleep a few more hours.”

Giving up, Dean followed Sam and Jess.

John held up his hands as he finally got up. “I didn’t know it was that bad, Ellen.”

“Don’t you know what mono _does_ , Winchester?” she shot back.

“It makes you tired! I let him rest until he was over it!”

“It does a hell of a lot more than _that_!” She laid it out in precise detail for him.

John sighed and sat down heavily. “He told me he was fine.”

“He needs more time,” Ellen said, sitting beside him. “And so do you.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at her sadly. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“’Course I care! Speaking of caring, where’s Ash?”

“Asleep,” Bobby finally spoke up. “Over behind my desk.”

“Show me.” She stood and turned back to John. “I’ll finish with you later.”

John sighed and stayed put as Ellen followed Bobby over to Ash’s cot. She ran her hand over his hair.

Ash stirred. “M’m’ll’n?”

“I’m here, baby boy.”

His eyes barely opened. “’M’ssed up.”

“Just rest.” She looked up at Jess, who was coming back down the stairs. “How is he? Really?”

Jess sighed. “Concussion, cracked ribs, wrenched knee and hip. He’ll heal all right, but it’ll be slow.”

Ellen nodded. “What can I do?”

“Mostly just be here to help us take care of him, I guess. The doctor said he shouldn’t travel for several weeks yet.”

Ellen nodded. “I’m here for a month.”

“A month?!” John echoed.

“Yes, Winchester, a month.”

“Good,” Sam said, coming down the stairs. “Maybe you can also run interference between him and Garth. Garth means well; he’s just....”

“Who’s Garth?” Ellen asked.

There was a crash outside.

“That’s Garth,” John sighed.

“I TOLD YOU that ladder wasn’t stable!” Charlie yelled.

“I’m fine!” Garth shot back.

“Let Jess be the judge of that. C’mere.”

There was groaning, and a moment later, Charlie and Chuck herded Garth inside through the back door. He was bloodied again.

“Did he fall off the ladder?” Jess asked as she went over to him.

“No,” Charlie replied. “It fell on him.”

“’M’fine,” he slurred, his pupils uneven.

Just then Dean charged down the stairs. “Dammit, Garth—”

“BED,” Sam ordered, heading him off.

“Sam—”

“Jess can handle it. BED.”

Dean snarled, “Not my keeper, man.” But he spun and headed back to the stairs.

Sam followed, herding him subtly. “Dean, you’re no good to us if you wreck your health by ignoring the mono.”

“I’m no good to you like this,” he mumbled.

“And if you don’t rest, you’ll _stay_ like this a lot longer. C’mon, man.”

“For you,” Dean whispered as he went back into the bedroom. “Just... come in and keep me updated.”

“Promise. I might even see about asking Jess to bake a pie.”

“Dirty pool.” But Dean was smiling, now.

“You would know, you pool shark.” Sam’s tone was just as light.

Dean closed his eyes, still smiling. It was a hallmark of how bad the mono still had hold on him that he fell asleep within a minute.

Downstairs, Jess was patching up Garth, and Charlie was introducing herself to Ellen.

“ _You’re_ Charlie?” she blinked. “Hard as you hit on Jo I assumed you were a boy!”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “About that... Been told recently I tend to come on bull-strong.”

“Tend to?!” Jess echoed.

“I’m trying,” she gasped.

“Ease up, Jess,” said John. “Girl’s got some growin’ up to do, is all.”

Bobby grinned as his phone rang.

Jess rolled her eyes and placed the last piece of tape over the gauze on Garth’s forehead. “There,” she told him. “Now, go lie down. Chuck, wake him every two hours.”

Chuck nodded and helped Garth sway his way back to the cabin.

When Bobby answered, the voice was the last he expected. “... Singer. Elkins.”

“Elkins? What’s the trouble?”

“You still want that... package?”

Bobby frowned. “’Course I still want it.”

“Meet me by your gate.” Elkins hung up.

Bobby’s frowned deepened as he looked at the phone. “By the gate?!”

Elkins’ massive truck was visible rolling up to the gate.

“What the hell...” John began.

Elkins stepped out of the truck and stood there, leaning against the bumper, waiting. Bobby, John, and Ellen walked out together to meet him.

Elkins cocked an eyebrow. “My business was with Singer.” He moved to get back in the truck.

“You hold it right there,” Bobby said. “I called you on John’s behalf, and Ellen’s boy’s mixed up in all this now. You talk to all of us.”

Elkins slowly walked around to the front again. “I didn’t even know if I wanted to give you what you were askin’ for, Singer. I still don’t.”

“How long has that thing been in your family, Elkins?”

“Since its maker died.”

“And how many times has your family used it for its intended purpose?”

“Twice.”

“So for over a century, it’s been gatherin’ dust in your safe.”

“It’s been kept _safe_ until I could find a way to replicate the bullets.”

“Bullets?” John echoed.

But Bobby cut him off. “What’s the good of replicatin’ the bullets if you won’t even use one—or let us use one—to kill one of the lords of Hell?”

“A lord of Hell? You didn’t say that’s what you were up against.”

“Why the hell should it matter? This thing was made to be used.”

“Not until we know how to replicate the bullets. Right now, once they’re gone, they’re _gone_.”

“You think a Marine’s gonna waste a shot?”

Elkins glared at him. “Yes.”

John snorted and turned to Ellen. “Paranoid son of a bitch, ain’t he?”

“Takes one to know one,” Bobby and Ellen jibed back at the same time.

Elkins snorted. “Singer, come here.”

Eyes narrowed, on his guard, Bobby walked over to him.

He walked Bobby around to the back of the truck. “Do you know you’re up against one of the hell knights?”

“We got a psychic says so. Azazel. He’s after Winchester’s boy.”

“Damn, Singer. Azazel?” Elkins reached in and pulled out an iron box. “It’s in here.”

Bobby sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

“So are the bullets. Replicate them before they’re all gone. If anyone can—it’s you.” He smiled as he got in the truck. “If you can get the box open.” He dangled a set of keys as he drove away.

“Why, you—”

Ellen held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Bobby handed it over carefully. “Reckon you can pick that lock?”

“I know I can.” She took it into the kitchen and grabbed a paper clip.

Sam, Jess, and Charlie joined them at the table. “What is it?” Charlie asked.

“It’s some kind of gun,” John answered.

“Not just a gun,” Bobby told him. “This is Samuel Colt’s gun.”

John hissed. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Seriously.”

Ellen made a satisfied noise and opened the box.

Sam gasped. “ _Wow_. That’s a real antique—1830s?”

“Yup.” She brought out one of the bullets. “And these are the magic bullets.”

“Is that a note in the box?” Sam asked.

“What do they do?” Charlie asked at the same time.

“They kill creatures,” John told Charlie.

“Supposed to kill anything,” Bobby added as he picked up the note. “With five exceptions,” he amended upon reading it. “God, Death, Lucifer, Michael and the Horsemen.”

“Horsemen?” Jess repeated. “As in....”

“Yeah, the Four Horsemen.”

“But they’re a myth,” Jess said helplessly.

“So is the supernatural,” Sam reminded her. “Supposedly.”

“The Horsemen aren’t a myth,” Chuck said as he walked into the kitchen. “I’ve, um, seen a few things.”

Dean, meanwhile, had silently wandered downstairs and was sitting beside Ellen, looking at the bullets.

She spotted him and jumped. “Dean Winchester, how many times do we have to tell you....”

“I’m sitting,” he told her. “Resting. Are these the Colt’s magic bullets?”

“Yes, but....”

“But?”

“Son,” John rumbled. “This isn’t something you need to worry over. Go back to bed.”

“I don’t need to sleep THAT much, Dad.”

“Bull,” said Sam.

“Jess, I don’t need to sleep 24 hours a day!”

Jess sighed. “Dean, you’ll have time to study these later. It’s not like we’ll be using the gun right away.”

“I know. There’s something about those bullets....”

Sam threw up his hands and stalked away from the table, but Charlie edged closer to Dean. “What? What are you seeing?”

He lifted one out of the box. “There’s markings...”

“Yeah,” Ellen said. “The bullets are numbered.”

“No, Ellen... other markings.”

“There.” Charlie pointed to the base of the brass. “Those notches. That’s not standard, is it?”

“No. It’s not.” Dean smiled at her. “Good eye.” He lifted a second one out and looked closely at it. “The marks are the same.”

“So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet,” Dean said. “But I can’t believe these marks don’t mean something.”

“Maybe Chuck and I should search Bobby’s books, see what we can come up with.”

John and Dean nodded in unison.

“Now will you go back to bed?” Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy, I don’t need to sleep 24/7!”

“And how much did you sleep yesterday with all of this going on?”

He spread his hands and looked helplessly at his father.

“There’s nothing happening right now we need your help with,” John told him. “And I really don’t want Mama Bear after me again,” he added with a wry smile at Ellen.

“Fine. But just till supper.” He followed Jess upstairs. “... gotta tell you, you are way outta my brother’s league....”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Swear I’m about to hogtie that boy to his bed,” said Bobby.

“How bad is he?” John asked. “Really. Is he right? Does he need to be in bed all the time?”

“Couldn’t tell you the details,” Ellen replied. “Not like I have X-ray vision—unlike what some people think,” she added with a glance at Ash, who was just awake enough to chuckle. “But if he’s still running that fever, sleep’s the best thing for him.”

“So we’ll get him up for supper and see how he is then,” Bobby said.

“And in the meantime,” said Charlie, “I am going to get some books to take back to the cabin and do research while I make sure Garth doesn’t hurt himself again. You in, Chuck?”

“I... am I?” he asked.

“Less’n you needed something else, it’s fine by me,” said Bobby.

Chuck nodded and followed Charlie.

Ellen sighed and closed the box. “Well... that’s that. Now we wait.”

“And hope we don’t kill each other in the meantime,” Sam agreed.


	4. Number One with a Bullet

When Sam went to wake Dean, he found him in bed—sitting up and doodling on a notepad.

Sam sighed. “Well, at least you’re _in_ bed.”

“I think I might have it figured out, Sammy.” Dean held up his free hand, and Sam realized he had palmed one of the bullets. “I think I might know what is up with the bullets. And if I’m right, we can replicate them.”

“Dean, can’t you ever quit hunting for—for five minutes and just rest like a normal sick person?”

“Nope.” And it was matter of fact, not snarky. Not sarcastic. Just a statement of fact.

And that disarmed Sam. He sighed again and came over to sit on the edge of the bed. “What have you got?”

“Look. It’s like a 3-D puzzle. Marks here... here... here... and one on the tip. Connect them and....” He drew the lines where Sam could see.

A perfect five-pointed star, along the entire length of the bullet. Surrounded by a circle.

“ _Huh._ ”

“And we both know this is one of the most powerful shielding symbols around. If that plowed into something evil....and pumped protection wards into its body....” He looked up at Sam. “It would tear them apart from the inside.”

Sam frowned and picked up the bullet, turning it over in his hand. “So why would Colt stop at 13?”

“Maybe he was killed before he could make more. And it’s a subtle ward—people would be expecting the gun itself to be the magic, in tandem with the bullets. But what if it’s just the bullets?”

“If you’re right, then we could use regular .45 ammo and our own handguns. They’d never see it coming.”

“We’d just have to doctor the bullets. Maybe there’s something inside the shells, too. We’d have to take one apart and we’d have to find a creature to test it on.”

“You think Dad would let us?”

“No,” Dean snorted. “I don’t.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not gonna ask.”

“Didn’t say that, Sammy.” His eyes were starting to droop. “Just said I don’t think he’ll let us.”

Sam sighed and pocketed the bullet. “You up to coming downstairs for supper?”

“Yeah. Then maybe... maybe I’ll go back to bed.”

It took a lot for Dean to admit he needed rest.

Sam decided not to say _I told you so_. “Okay. Sounds good.”

Dean followed Sam down and sat at the table. Everyone else was scattered through the kitchen and living room. Ellen was helping Ash to sit up enough that he could eat; John and Chuck were on the couch talking; Garth was complaining about his headache to Charlie and Jess; and Bobby was manning the stove.

Jess gave Garth some medicine and sent him back to bed for a couple of hours, then came over to Dean.

He gave her a tired smile. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hey. Lemme check your temperature.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t otherwise protest, which was a sure sign that he was feeling worse.

Jess’s thinned lips confirmed it was up.

Bobby brought Dean a plate and didn’t even have to ask how he was feeling. He just said, “Eat up, son, and don’t worry about the rest of these idjits. You can sleep.”

He nodded. “I didn’t... I thought I was over this.”

Jess sighed and sat down. “The virus that causes mono is one that will stay with you your whole life, and it could flare up again years down the road. But this soon after infection, it’s not all that surprising that you’d be able to send yourself into a relapse.”

Dean swore and ate. Then he wove his sleepy way up the stairs.

“He’s really feeling awful,” Sam sighed. “He didn’t even argue.”

“I’ll go check on him,” John said. “What’s in your hand, Sammy?”

Sam opened both hands—empty.

“Huh.” John nodded and headed up the stairs.

Jess looked at him narrowly. “So what has it got in its pocketses, Precious?” she asked once John was out of earshot.

Sam produced the bullet.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Dean had it.”

“Why?”

“He thinks he might have it figured out.”

* * *

Dean rolled over to find John standing in the doorway. “You gonna stare at me all night?”

John sighed and came into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“It wasn’t.”

“You could have stayed in Palo Alto a few more days—hell, weeks.”

“You’d have given me hell if I did that.”

John ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Dad, honestly. Would it have made a difference?” Dean was so sick that his barriers were down and he sounded a lot like Sam.

“I... I don’t... hell.” John sighed. “Maybe it wouldn’t have at the time. I don’t know. But I do know I want you well. You....” He broke off, swallowing hard.

Dean’s eyes were closed. “... I what, Dad?”

“You... you deserve the chance t-to get out. Even if I don’t live through this—”

Dean drug his eyes open like they were lead weights. “You are living through this. All I want is my family intact.”

“But son, the family can’t be intact without you in it.”

“I’m getting better. You go in with that mentality and it’s suicide. Stay alive.”

John put a hand on Dean’s forehead. “That goes for you, too. Take care of yourself. Get well. And that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.” He smiled and closed his eyes again. John felt his temperature rise just a little but didn’t worry. Dean and Sam both shared that butane heater when asleep physiology. They’d inherited it from Mary.

John stayed there for a moment, watching his not-so-little boy sleep, until he heard footsteps in the hall. “How is he?” Ellen whispered.

“Sleeping,” he whispered back, walking out into the hall. “What is it?”

“Just came to check on him. He disappeared awful quick after supper.”

“He was exhausted.”

“Wore himself out doing puzzles, I hear.”

John frowned. “Puzzles?”

“Sam said Dean thinks he’s figured out how to replicate the Colt’s bullets.”

John’s jaw slammed open and his eyes went huge. “He what?”

“Sounds like he was workin’ on that instead of sleeping.”

John blew the air out of his cheeks.

She looked at him closely. “You really didn’t know?”

“No, Ellen. I really didn’t know.”

“Still not sorry I knocked you out of your chair. I just hope it did the job.”

“Knockin’ some sense into me?”

“Yeah.”

“Doubt it.”

She chuckled. “How are you, John?”

He frowned again. “Me? I’m... okay.”

“I’m not askin’ about your health.”

“Then what are you askin’ about?”

“Why you’re here. Why Bobby wants the Colt so suddenly.”

He sighed. “I’m here because apparently this is my home. Somehow Singer & Winchester’s Home for Wayward Hunters came about and I’m part of it.”

“Singer and—” She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from roaring with laughter and waking Dean.

“Yeah. Dean’s idea.”

She spluttered as she tried to talk without laughing, coughed, and said, “So that’s where this rag-tag buncha greenhorns came from.”

“Yeah.” He sat down in another bedroom and told her the twisted story.

She laughed until she cried.

“Not _that_ funny, Ellen.”

“Only ’cause it’s you and I just got here.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Really, maybe I ought to send Jo up here, keep her out of trouble. Then again, Charlie could wind up with a broken nose.”

That made John snort. Then he shook his head. “Dean’s figured it out.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s so urgent about getting the Colt in the first place.”

“All I know is that I might have a lead on the demon.”

She gasped.

“But with Dean sick... and this going on... I can’t get away.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

“Ellen... not you, too.”

“I mean it, John. I know you. If it weren’t for all this, you’d go haring off after this thing without backup, probably get yourself killed. And then where would your boys be?”

“Safe.”

“Safe? You haven’t even told them what you’re after, have you?”

“They don’t need t—”

“Dammit, John, this thing killed their mother! They need to know!”

“Sam wants no part of me or this world,” John said softly. “And Dean’s sick.”

“So what are Sam and Jess doing here?”

“Because of Ash. His injuries are giving Jess practice for her career.”

Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “So why was Jess all ears when Sam was explaining Dean’s theory?”

“What?”

“She said something about some plan that a demon spouted off about before it tried to kill her.”

“They were attacked in Colorado. A demon in their best friend.”

“Same one you’re after?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I think they’re connected.”

“Which means you’re liable to get your boys and that girl _killed_ if you’re not straight with them.”

“No Ellen. I’m trying to prote—”

She slapped him again.

He clutched his cheek and stared wide-eyed at her. “I’m trying to keep them safe,” he whispered, and she saw a strange wildness in his eyes.

“John Winchester, you wouldn’t know safe right now if it BIT YOU!”

“Don’t you tell me how to raise my boys.”

“They’re grown men. They’re as raised as they’re gonna get. And right now, one of those men you raised is makin’ himself sicker by tryin’ to PLEASE YOU!”

“No, he’ll be fine after a good night’s rest....” John was falling apart before her eyes.

“So help me, John, I’m about to call Bobby up here and have him hog-tie you in the basement!”

He stood. “Get outta my way, Ellen.”

She stood, too—and punched him in the gut.

He doubled over, gasping.

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at her. “You listen to me. You cannot protect your sons by telling them nothing. Let them help you. Let _us_ help you.”

“Can’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s _my_ family this thing’s targeted!”

“You’ve already got Bill’s blood on your hands. You think I’m gonna stand by and let you lose your sons the same way?”

He turned white and sank to the bed, shaking.

“If you don’t stop this right now, I am going back down there and order Chuck to tell Sam _everything_.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Everything?” Sam said from the hall, stepping into the room. “What is going on?”

Ellen crossed her arms. “Your daddy’s bein’ a pig-headed fool, that’s what’s goin’ on.”

“So what else is new?”

“He thinks he’s protecting you by keeping you in the dark.”

“About what?”

John was no longer replying.

“He thinks he’s got a lead on the demon that killed your mother.”

Sam huffed. “Dad, I thought we _had_ this conversation yesterday.”

Ellen stepped closer. “Sam... I don’t think your daddy is completely sane.”

“What the hell do you mean?” John roared, completely forgetting that Dean was trying to sleep in the next room.

“A sane man would get help!” Ellen roared back. “He’d realize he is in a HOUSE full of HUNTERS that ALL want to HELP!”

“Dude,” Dean groaned from the doorway, “who do I gotta kill to get some quiet around here?”

Sam hauled his father up from the bed and down the stairs while Ellen went into Dean. “Sorry, son. Just a difference of opinion.”

Dean braced himself on the doorframe and watched until Sam had John all the way downstairs. Then he turned back to Ellen. “You really think he’s lost it?”

She sighed deeply. “Yeah, Dean, I do. I think there’s hope, though. If we can reach him.”

“Okay, so how do we?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know yet. You rest and let us think on it. Dean, let us take care of you for once.”

“Can’t rest if people keep yellin’ at each other,” he complained even as he let her steer him back to bed. He was too weak to resist even if he’d wanted to.

“Sorry.”

“Hell, Dad probably deserved it. Jus’... wish there’s somethin’ I can do.”

She tucked him in. “Get well. And insist he stop his secret keeping.”

“Been tryin’....” But he was out before he could say more.

Ellen stroked his hair and headed downstairs.

“What in tarnation did you say to John?” Bobby asked her quietly once she got downstairs. “Sam’s makin’ him sleep out in the cabin so he’ll leave Dean alone.”

So Ellen took a deep breath—and told him.

Bobby sighed heavily and shook his head. “So what do we do? You know him as well as I do.”

“I vote for knocking him out and having Ash sit on him.”

Bobby snorted.

“Seriously, though, knocking him out might not be a bad thing.”

“Might not. Question is what to knock ’im out with—and don’t say a baseball bat. We got two concussions already.”

“Well, maybe drug his booze?”

Bobby nodded. “It’s a thought. Maybe Jess can help us figure out how to keep him down after that.”

“Jess what?” Jess asked, walking up.

“We need some way to keep John sedated so he don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

She thought, then nodded. “See if you can get him to eat. I’ll crush a sleeping pill into his food.”

“Oh, he’ll eat,” Ellen said. “And I know just exactly what to feed him, too.”

Jess smiled. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Ellen chuckled. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, honey.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not likely to pose a threat to my family.”

“Ma’am, I want nothing more than to help your family.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Jess hugged the older woman tight.

* * *

Charlie blinked innocent wide eyes up at Ellen the next morning. “Seriously? Just make sure he eats?”

Ellen nodded. “That’s what I said.”

Charlie looked down at the tray in her hands. “What if.... What if he tries to hurt me?”

“He won’t get the chance. Trust me.”

She nodded shakily and squared her shoulders. “Once more into the breach, then.”

“The blast of war blows in our ears, girl. Go imitate the actions of a tyrant.”

She blinked at Ellen. Then she began to smile. “I like Tolkien.”

“That was Shakespeare,” Ellen teased.

“I know. I still like Tolkien.” With that, she turned and headed out of the room.

“Now, just why did she think I needed to know that?” Ellen asked Bobby as she watched Charlie leave.

“’Cause she likes you.” Bobby grinned. “Now we wait.”

* * *

Charlie entered the cabin’s living room. “Mr. Winchester? Chow time.”

“Finally,” John grumbled.

“Hey, don’t bite the hand that feeds you, huh? Literally, in this case....”

He sighed. “Sorry, Charlie.”

Garth snickered.

She glared at him. “Hush, you.”

Garth kept snickering until Chuck smacked him on the arm.

Charlie set the food down in front of John.

“Thanks.” John picked up the fork and immediately tucked in. By the time he realized he was the only one eating, it was way too late. “What—why—” The fork fell out of his hand, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Charlie and Chuck caught his shoulders and eased him back into the chair.

“Dang,” Garth drawled.

“Now we just need to keep him down,” Ellen said, walking in with Sam, Jess, and Bobby in tow.

“We could get Dean to give him mono,” Sam suggested. “That’d knock him flat for a while. Then we’d only have to worry about keeping him drugged for the incubation period.”

“You’re evil,” said Jess, but she looked like she was considering the idea.

“I learned it from the best,” Sam shot back with a grin.

Bobby and Sam, between them, managed to get John into Bobby’s bedroom. Jess found an IV and soon a steady drip of sedative was flowing into the oldest Winchester.

“So now we keep him down,” Bobby recapped, “get Dean and Ash and Garth healed up, get this damn hunters’ home built—and keep our guard up for when the demons show up.”

“You think they will?” Sam asked softly.

“Dunno why the hell they wouldn’t, with all this goin’ on. They’d expect us to be off balance, nowhere near ready for ’em.”

“Then we get ready.” With that, Sam went in to check on Dean.

Dean pried his eyes open a slit as Sam put a hand on his forehead. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Hey. Fever feels down.”

“Can’t tell from my end. How’s Dad?”

“Asleep.”

“Good. Hope he stays.”

“Jess has a sedative drip on him.”

Jess walked in just then. “Hey, you’re awake. Feeling better?”

“Not really,” Dean croaked. “Still got that bullet, Sammy?”

“Yeah, it’s in my pocket. I’ve studied it, but I’m not seeing what you were seeing.”

Dean sighed and tried to sit up.

Jess helped him, bracing him with pillows. As she touched him, she smiled. “Feels like your fever’s down.”

“’S what Sammy said. Need m’notebook, Sammy, ’n some coffee... file ’n a regular bullet.”

“Okay.”

Jess took his temperature and smiled. “Down to 99°.”

Dean smiled a little. “Wish I could get over this thing.”

“Now that your fever’s broken, give yourself some time. NO heavy lifting.”

Dean grumbled under his breath.

“Just rest, exercise your mind awhile,” Jess smiled.

“Objection,” Sam teased as he brought in the coffee. “Assumes facts not in evidence.”

“Overruled,” Dean said from the bed. “Assumes present based on past history.”

Sam chuckled and set the coffee on the nightstand. “Here’s the notebook. What size file?”

“Big enough to get into this bullet.”

“I’ll see what Bobby has.” And Sam was off again.

“Sam! Get another Colt bullet!” Dean sagged into the pillows. “... bad thing is, we’ll need a creature to test this on.”

“What sort of creature?” Jess asked. “I’m assuming not deer or rabbit.”

“Vampire. Ghoul. Demon.”

Jess shivered. “Maybe Sam and Bobby can find a hunt nearby so they can test it.”

“I gotta recreate it first.”

When Sam came back, Dean held out his hand, and Sam dropped a Colt bullet into it. Then he handed Dean a pair of pliers.

Dean opened the bullet and grunted. “Iron shavings... salt... runes! Sammy, look! Runes on the inside of the casing!”

Sam took the brass and squinted at the inner surface. “Man, those are tiny. We’d need jeweler’s tools to recreate this.”

“I have some,” Dean and Jess said in unison.

Dean looked up at Jess in surprise. “Really?”

She nodded. “I’m an artisan—I craft. I had to use the magnifier to learn how to do stitches straight.”

“Huh. What about the engraving tools?”

“Yes, I got some to etch brooches. And it just so happens that I brought the kit to have something to do while we were in Colorado.”

Dean looked over at Sam. “Marry her, dude.”

Sam blushed.

Dean’s chuckle turned into a cough that he hurriedly followed with a swig of coffee. “Okay, so. We know what goes on the inside. Let me show you what goes on the outside.”

Jess got her tools and Dean made three new bullets before he rested.

“Think you can take it from here, Sammy?” he asked as he handed the tools back to Jess.

“Dean, this is incredible....”

“I’m serious, man. Make enough for all of us, at least one magazine’s worth.”

Sam nodded and set to work.

“Rest now, Dean,” Jess said. “We’ll take care of this, don’t worry.”

He smiled and closed his eyes. Soon, he would be up and around again. He couldn’t wait.

* * *

Bobby had come to dread the phone ringing over the last few days. When it went off again, it was coupled by a knock at the door.

Bobby groaned. “Sam, would you get the door? I gotta take this phone call.”

Sam answered the door and froze. “Bobby, it’s some guy with a phone to his ear!”

At the door, and in Bobby’s ear, came a gruff, “Who’s the kid?”

Bobby rolled his eyes and hung up. “Dammit, Rufus, you coulda called before you came to the door...”

“I did. You weren’t pickin’ up. Who’s the kid, Bob?”

“Sam Winchester. Sam, Rufus Turner. He’s an old friend of mine.”

“Nuh-uh!” Rufus erupted. “Sammy Winchester’s a little-little kid!”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Not since I was eleven, Mr. Turner.”

He nodded. “So if you’re here, then where’s the brother and father?”

“Dean’s upstairs in bed. He’s got mono. And Dad’s....” Sam looked at Bobby with a grimace.

“Medical coma,” Bobby said, not explaining further. “What do you want?”

Rufus’ eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t ask. “Need you to help me bury a body,” he said instead.

“Turner, I swear....”

“Bob, it ain’t my fault. Somebody saw me fightin’ this thing and called the cops. Wasn’t time for me to do anything but drop it in the truck and split.”

Sam suddenly swore. “Mr. Turner, your truck moved!”

Rufus turned just in time to see his very live quarry sit up and get ready to jump out of the truck. He swore. “I thought that book said to stab ’im in the heart!”

Sam grabbed a gun—and fired. The thing that looked like a Hispanic male lit up with blue fire inside as it went down. Bobby blinked and spun, expecting Sam to be holding the Colt.

He wasn’t. He was lowering a Taurus.

“It worked,” Sam breathed, wide-eyed. “It—It WORKED!”

“Of course it worked,” Charlie said, close to his elbow. “You and Dean did it together.”

Sam wrapped her in a hug and kissed the top of her head. Jess, drawn out of the kitchen by the shot, smiled at the display of fraternal affection. Charlie pretended to be disgusted by the boy germs, but nobody was fooled. And Sam let her go and charged up the stairs to report to Dean.

Rufus frowned and looked from the body to Bobby. “What.... What the hell was that?”

Bobby shrugged. “Looks like Dean figured out the secret to the Colt.”

Rufus looked suitably impressed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Why’s anybody surprised?” Charlie asked. “Dean’s smart.”

“But this is the _Colt_ , kid,” Rufus said. “Said to be impossible to duplicate.”

“Did anybody ever try before?”

“Yeah,” the older hunters chorused.

“The gun or the bullets?”

“The gun,” they chorused again, then Bobby blinked. “Nobody ever thought to look at the _bullets_.”

“See? You gotta think outside the box.” Charlie smiled and went back toward the kitchen.

Bobby looked at Rufus, who returned the look. Then he said pointedly, “Like I said—can you help me bury this body?”

Bobby snorted. “I’ll go get the backhoe. Just hope Garth hasn’t wrecked it.”

“Garth?” Rufus followed him. “What the hell kinda place are you runnin’ nowadays?”

“We’re callin’ it Singer & Winchester’s Home for Wayward Hunters.”

Rufus stopped in his tracks. “... damn!”

“Name was Dean’s idea. Wait’ll you hear the rest of it.”

“I’m all ears, Bob.”

Bobby was just about to start telling the story when Ellen came running. “I heard a shot! Please tell me it wasn’t John!”

“It was Sam—killing one of these....”

“Pishtacos,” Rufus supplied.

“Seriously?” Bobby asked, then shook his head. “Sam shot one of these with the new bullets he and Dean came up with.”

Ellen looked both relieved and impressed. “Well, I’ll be damned. Hey there, Rufus.”

“Ellen. Now I _gotta_ hear this story, if she’s involved.”

Between them, Bobby and Ellen brought Rufus up to speed while getting the body buried.

“You are certifiable. The both of you.”

Ellen was about to retort when they heard a call of, “Miz Harvelle? This nail gun’s jammed, and Chuck reckons I better not try to unjam it m’self....”

“I’m on my way, Garth!” She sighed. “Boy’s a walking disaster.”

“It’s unplugged,” Garth assured her. “I’m not that stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all,” she assured him. “You’re just... a bit scattered.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bobby grumbled quietly as Ellen headed off to deal with Garth. Then he took a deep breath and let it out again. “C’mon in, Rufus. Think Jess about has lunch ready.”


	5. Helter Skelter

Two days later, Meg finally tracked Sam Winchester to Singer Salvage. She was cautious, scoping out the wards as unobtrusively as possible and watching the house from a distance during the day. She also kept tabs on vehicles and individuals. And after a week, she was sure of one thing: John was out of commission.

She smirked at that. Her father would be most pleased.

So, when night fell once more and a coyote wandered over to see what she was, she caught it, killed it—not ideal, but serviceable and less noticeable—and used its blood to call her father. She delivered her report eagerly and waited.

And a moment later, he appeared beside her, grinning. “You’ve done well, darling.”

“Thank you, Father.” Her beaming smile showed her delight.

“Show me the best way into this place.”

“Follow me.”

They picked their way carefully through wards that would have stopped lesser demons until they reached the house. With a cold smile, he nodded at her and she sent a sharp piece of wood skittering across the porch, slicing open the devil’s trap.

There was another devil’s trap just inside the front door, but the windows were lined only with salt. He went in first and broke the salt line so she could follow.

A young girl with huge eyes slowly stood from a computer in the corner of the room. “WHO ARE YOU?” she yelled.

“Shhh.” Meg sauntered over to her. “We’re just a couple of old friends who want to have a chat with John. So why don’t you be a good girl and take us to him?”

“He’s sleeping!” she said, still louder than she should.

“Shhhhhhh.” Meg stepped into her personal space. “We can wake him up. And, ah... if you’ll keep your voice down and take us to him... maybe me and you can have a little fun together afterward.”

Her eyes raked Meg assessingly. “... maybe....”

“If you don’t, though... I’d be very unhappy. _Very_ unhappy.”

“How... unhappy?”

Meg caressed the girl’s cheek. “Let’s just say that’s an awful cute face that, ah... might not be so cute when I got through with it.”

She shuddered and nodded. “He... He’s upstairs.

“Show us.”

“This way. Mind the hallway—Ash likes to sleep there.”

Meg stayed in the redhead’s personal space all the way up the stairs until they reached John’s room, and her father was close behind them.

“He’s in here,” she said in a stage whisper.

Meg smiled. “Good girl. Now wait riiiight... there,” she added, pinning the girl to the wall with a wave of her hand, “and don’t say another word.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

Meg and her father walked into the room, noting that John had an IV sedative drip in his arm.

“Bring him around,” Azazel said. “I want him awake for this.”

Meg slid the IV out and slapped John hard.

In the hallway, the redhead slipped down the wall a fraction. Her feet hit the ground and she grunted softly as, with an effort, she broke the hold and slipped silently down the hallway. Furious, Meg went to cut her off. But the kid had seemingly vanished—and the drunk in the hall wasn’t as unconscious as he’d looked.

In the bedroom, John woke with a gasp and stared at Azazel.

“Howdy, John,” said Azazel, letting his eyes turn.

“YOU!” he roared.

“Yep,” Azazel said, sitting down on the edge of John’s bed. “It’s me. Been a long time, John.”

John tried to roll off the bed, but he was uncoordinated from having been asleep for over a week.

Azazel pushed him back onto the mattress and pinned him, chuckling. “You want to know what I want with your precious little Sammy, don’t you? Just relax,” he added as John tried to get up again. “We’ll take real good care of him, you and me. And I’ll make sure you get to see it all up close and personal.”

“Leave me alone,” he panted.

“Oh, no. You’ve been alone too long. In fact, I think I’ll make sure you’re never alone again.”

But before he could even attempt to possess John, there was a shot from the hallway.

“We don’t have much time,” Azazel purred. He took John by the throat. “Just relax... this won’t hurt. Much.” And he forced John’s mouth open.

“Hold it right there,” Sam snarled from the doorway.

Azazel turned, smiling. “Sammy. My, my. How you’ve grown.”

Sam aimed his Taurus right at Azazel’s heart. “Leave my dad alone.”

“You know that’s as effective as a sneeze on me,” Azazel purred.

“Sammy,” John wheezed. “Run!”

“Achoo,” said Sam and fired.

Azazel started to laugh—until the bullet hit him. “... what....”

“That’s for my mom.”

Azazel dropped John and fell off the bed, lighting up from the inside and seizing. His last sight was of Sam looking down at him in utter contempt.

“... Sam....” John whispered.

Sam ran to him. “Dad, you okay?”

“Sammy... that... that’s not the Colt.... How the hell....”

“Dean figured it out.”

“The gun was the charmed....”

“No. It wasn’t. It was the bullets all along.”

John looked at him dubiously, then down at the body at his feet. “... I can’t argue with the results.”

Sam grinned.

John shook his head. “I feel weak as a kitten.” He looked back at the bed and frowned at the IVs. “... what....”

Sam sighed. “Dad, you were sounding crazy. Suicidal. Forgetting conversations we’d already had. We had to knock you out for your own good.”

“Looks like it turned out pretty good in the end,” Bobby said, coming in with Dean right behind him. “’Course, we weren’t figurin’ on _you_ bein’ the bait ’stead of Sam.”

“We’re lucky Charlie had the presence of mind to play along and get us,” Dean said. “She remembered her training.”

“And Ash was already awake. He shot the other’n.”

“He... wasn’t alone?” John gasped.

“No, there were two. Reckon the other’n was scoutin’ for ’im.”

Ash stuck his head in. “We’re going to burn her body.”

Bobby sighed. “Guess we’ll burn both of ’em together. Now, don’t you _or_ Dean lift anything,” he added sternly.

“I’m better!” they chorused, then Dean wilted under Bobby’s glare. “Yes, sir.”

“Ash,” Ellen said warningly.

“Yes, Mama Ellen.”

But the two rolled their eyes.

Sam chuckled.

“You may be better, both of you,” Ellen said. “But you’re a damn sight from well.”

Dean grimaced, but Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. “Sit with your dad.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean sighed.

“Dean. Hunt’s over. Time to finish recovering.”

Dean took a deep breath. “... it is, isn’t it?”

Bobby smiled kindly and squeezed the back of Dean’s neck. “Stand down, son.”

John bristled at the ‘son’. “Singer—”

“Dad,” Dean interrupted. “It’s okay.”

“What—”

“You really think I’d ever forget who my real father is?”

John smiled slightly at that. Then it faded as he looked at Bobby. “What the hell happened to me, Singer? Who doped me?”

“Ellen and Jess. But the boys gave their blessing.”

He looked at Dean. “Explain.”

Dean held out his hands as he walked toward the bed. “Dad, you were about to go after the demon yourself, no backup, no clues, nothing. You woulda got yourself killed.”

“Or possessed,” Sam added, “considering what he was trying to do when I came in here.”

“I had to stop him,” John said. “I had to get—” He looked down at the body beside the bed. “... but we did it.”

Sam frowned. “Dad, what’s going on with you? It’s like you keep forgetting you saw me shoot him.”

“Just... havin’ trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that it’s finally over... she’s avenged.”

Dean sighed and motioned toward the body. “Get him out of here, Sammy.”

“With pleasure.” Sam hauled the creature over his shoulder and left the room.

Dean sat down beside John. “I told you. You and Sam are all I have. You don’t want to be part of the hunter home, that’s your business, but... dammit, Dad, I just want us to be a family again.”

John frowned. “We were always a family, Dean. That’s why I did all this—to protect you boys as well as avenge your mother.”

“And told Sammy never to come back if he left? And left me to hunt on my own without telling me what the hell you were up to? _How is that family?_ ”

“SAM turned his back on US!” John roared out. “YOU know better than ANYONE what we were up against!”

“But YOU told him to stay gone!”

“I didn’t mean it,” John said, his voice shaking. “I thought that would snap him out of it.”

“Well, guess what? He heard it as an order—and so did I.”

John collapsed back against the bed with a sigh. “... well, shit.”

Dean got up and paced over to the window. He looked out for a moment before saying, without turning around, “I got into college, too, once.”

“What?” John gasped.

Dean nodded. “This one school, all the seniors were required to take the SAT and apply somewhere. Never thought I’d actually be accepted.”

John frowned at him. “So why didn’t you go?”

Dean turned back to him. “Because I thought you needed me.”

“Dean, you could have had a home! That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, was for you to have a home and a life!”

Dean scowled. “So why the hell did you try to stop Sam?”

“Sam’s different. You don’t have things after you and he does. He needs to be protected, Dean!”

Dean’s scowl became a confused frown. “Dad, the demon’s _dead_. Sam just shot it two minutes ago.”

“It has plans for your brother, Dean. And all the other children like him out there. We need to kill it so you can follow that dream.”

Bobby hauled John to his feet and over to the window, pointing to where Sam was throwing the demon’s body onto a pyre that Garth, Chuck, Ellen, and Jess were finishing. “Sam _did_ kill it, you idjit. You saw it happen. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t remember...” John breathed, all color leeching out of his skin and a palm going to his forehead. “I don’t remember, Singer.”

Bobby frowned. “Just what do you remember?”

“Bits and pieces of the last few months... I think it’s months? Sam has a girlfriend.”

Bobby and Dean exchanged a worried look. “Pick her out,” Bobby challenged.

“The blonde. She looks like Mary.”

“Well, that’s something,” Dean said quietly.

“What about the others down there?” Bobby asked. “You remember them?”

“Ellen’s... unforgettable.” He looked at them carefully. “The small guy’s psychic... and the beanpole ganked the tooth fairy.”

“So far, so good.”

“Singer?” John turned to look at him. “... did I ever know their names?”

Dean closed his eyes with a quiet curse.

“Yeah, John,” Bobby replied. “You knew their names. You knew who else has been here, too.”

“What are you running here? A home for wayward hunters?”

“That’s exactly what it is, Dad,” Dean groaned. “Singer & Winchester’s Home for Wayward Hunters.”

John sighed. “Live-in medic, I’m assuming?”

“That’d be Jess.”

“Have I met him yet?”

Dean slapped a hand over his eyes. “ _Her_. It’s short for Jessica. She’s Sam’s girlfriend.”

“Sam’s got a medic for a girlfriend?”

“She’s a nursing student.”

John smiled broadly. “Good. Sam always did have a head for medicine.”

Dean dropped his hand to stare incredulously at John. “Sam’s _pre-law_.”

“I remember that. But I always thought that wasn’t the right path for him. He loves to argue, but he’s always been the best at stitches and setting bones and remembering medicine amounts.”

Dean started to say something but dropped it with a sigh. “Anyway, you want Jess to come have a look at you?”

“If there is something wrong with me, I’d rather not see a doctor unless a medic signs off on it.”

“Okay, I’ll pretend that makes sense and go get her.”

John nodded and sat back on the bed.

Dean left and came back with Jess a moment later.

John looked up at her. “... I’m having memory issues.”

Jess blinked. “Okay. What kind?”

“I thought you were a boy.”

Jess frowned until Dean clarified, “When I mentioned your name. Couldn’t put it with your face.”

“They tell me Sam killed the demon that’s been after my family—they tell me I saw it... but I keep forgetting it.”

Jess looked concerned. “I know you won’t know what day it is, since you’ve been out so long, but do you know what year it is?”

He licked his lips. “We fought in 2001... he’s been there long enough to land you... 2002?”

Dean swore again quietly, and Jess shook her head. “It’s 2004.”

“So, yeah... havin’ a little problem.”

“I’d say so. This is out of my league. You need a CAT scan, at least.”

“All right,” he nodded.

“Is there anything in your history they’ll need to know about? Concussions and alcohol abuse are probably a given, just based on what your sons have told me, but anything else?”

He shook his head, then he blinked. “... um, there is something from ’Nam... but that wouldn’t be current, would it?”

“Some things have effects that don’t show up for a long time.”

“Agent Orange, then.”

Jess gasped, and Bobby and Dean hissed.

“Just two exposures, nothing major.”

“But Agent Orange, that’s... that’s associated with nerve damage and increased risk of cancer.”

“Huh,” John said. “... that could explain a lot.”

“Sure as hell could,” Bobby agreed. “I’ll call a neurologist in the morning, get you set up with an appointment.”

He nodded. “And Singer? Don’t let me outta this.”

Still reeling, Dean wandered downstairs to stand by Sam beside the pyre and looked at it as he asked, “You okay?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. Just... kinda hard to get used to the idea that it’s really over.”

“It might not be.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We’re takin’ Dad to a doctor tomorrow. He’s having bad memory issues.”

“How bad?”

“He’s lost two years.”

Sam swore.

“It gets better.”

“Don’t tell me he thinks I’m still at Stanford.”

“No. He thought Jess was a boy, based on her name.”

Sam snorted.

“And he just dropped on us he was exposed to Agent Orange. Twice.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?!”

“Yeah. It didn’t feel like a lie when he told it. No ‘tells’.”

Sam jammed his hands into his hair. “That’s—that’s—how the hell did we wind up this healthy?”

“Grace of God?” Dean said, spreading his hands.

Chuck started to say something, grimaced, and didn’t say anything after all.

Ellen whispered, “What do you know?”

“I think it was the angels,” Chuck whispered back. “Part of the plan.”

“Plan’s derailed,” Ellen whispered back. “But that’s something good that came out of it.”

Chuck nodded

“It... _is_... derailed, isn’t it?”

“As far as I know, but I haven’t seen anything in a while.”

Ellen nodded. “Good enough for me.”

Sam still had his hands tangled in his hair. “Agent Orange. _Agent Orange._ How—what the hell do we even do?!”

“We’re doing it. We’re taking him to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Yes. Right. You said that. Sorry.” Sam dropped his hands with a sigh.

“He wanted you safe,” Dean said softly. “That was why he said what he did.”

Sam snorted. “Sure. Because college is so dangerous.”

“Because the demon was apparently tracking you.”

“Okay, we know that _now_. But would it have killed him to say something before my best friend got possessed?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Because it’s Dad. And he can be a world-class jerk sometimes.”

Sam shook his head and sighed again. “At least _he_ got to be the bait this time.”

Dean grinned. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”

Sam smiled and let Dean steer him inside.

* * *

The next day was a whirlwind of tests and the hurry-up-and-wait of hospitals. In one of the lulls, Dean asked, “Sammy? Have you ever considered medicine?”

Sam grimaced. “Kind of, until I flunked out of biology—which wasn’t my fault. It’s a weed-out class. Almost nobody passes.”

“But why pre-law?”

“I thought it would be another way to help people.”

“Do you still think that?” Dean met Sam’s eyes, to show him that there was no sting intended in the next question. “Or do you just like to argue?”

Sam sighed. “Both, I guess? Anyway, it’s a hell of a lot safer than hunting.”

“No arguments there. I like the helping people part of it,” Dean admitted. “But I hate the research.”

“I don’t mind research. That part can be kind of fun. It’s everything that goes with it I can’t stand. I mean, why do _we_ have to be the ones out there chasing down stuff out of other people’s nightmares?”

“Because it came after our family. And you ended it.”

Sam nodded slowly and sighed again. “I want to go back to college, Dean. I’ve still got a year and a half because I changed my major, and then law school, assuming I can get in.”

“Will you hear me out before interrupting?”

“O-kay.”

“We want you and Jess to stay ’til the end of the summer.”

“Okay, but after that—”

“We’ll sit down and talk about it. I can’t lose you again, Sammy.”

“Dean, I... you won’t lose me. I’ll keep in touch this time, I promise. It’s just... Dad’s....”

“Dad’s sick. And he wasn’t entirely sane.”

“I realize that. And I want him to get better, I do. But until he does... I mean, if he can’t even remember that the demon’s dead....”

“I know,” Dean sighed sadly.

Just then the doctor came into the waiting room. “For John Singer?”

“We’re his sons.” Dean stood up.

“Would you come with me, please?”

They followed him.

The doctor led them to a break room and closed the door. “I thought you might not want the whole world to hear what I’m about to say,” he explained.

“How’s our father?” Dean asked.

“Not good, but it could be a whole lot worse. He’s getting a psych workup now, so it’ll be a bit before I can tell you anything about that. But we did find some damage to his heart that was probably caused by the Agent Orange exposure... and the CT scan shows a meningioma over the memory center of his brain.”

“Which is why he can’t remember things.”

“Most likely.”

“You should know,” Dean said. “Our demons are very literal. Our mother was murdered in front of our father when we were kids, and the serial killer had been stalking us ever since. He was brought to justice last night—again, in front of our father—but Dad can’t remember it.”

“So,” Sam put in, “if he starts talking about ‘demons’—that’s how he thought of the serial killer and his clan.”

The doctor nodded. “I see. Yes, that... that would complicate matters on the psychiatric side. And gentlemen, I have to be honest. Even removing the tumor may not resolve the memory problems or the psychiatric issues.”

Sam sighed deeply.

“We’ll be doing a biopsy as soon as he’s finished with the psych workup. The good news is, if it’s benign, we don’t have to worry about the tumor worsening before we can remove it.”

“Good,” they chorused.

The doctor stood then. “Sorry to make you fellas wait even longer, but that’s the most I can tell you at this point. We’ll know more once that biopsy’s done, though.”

“When will that be?” Sam asked.

“Depends on how busy the lab is. If all goes well, though, we should have the results back in two to three days. Oh, and because of where the tumor is, we are going to have to keep your dad here at least overnight for recovery and observation. We want to make sure there are no complications like seizures.”

“All right,” Dean nodded. “Thank you.”

The doctor nodded back and ushered them back to the waiting room.

Sam paced hard, seemingly trying to wear a hole into the floor.

“Dude,” Dean objected. “You’re makin’ me dizzy. Sit down.”

With a heaved sigh, Sam did. “... what the hell....”

“I know.” Dean reached over and squeezed the back of Sam’s neck. “I know.”

“This is... something we’ve never faced before.”

“Yeah, and it’s something we can’t shoot, stab, or exorcise.”

“Not the Winchester way.” Was Sam... trying to crack a joke?

“Look, we’ll deal with it. Somehow. Even... even if it’s....” Dean couldn’t bring himself to say the C word. “We’re here. We’re together. We’re alive. There’s nothin’ chasin’ us now. We’ll... we’ll deal.”

“Promise me,” Sam said suddenly. “Promise me when I go back to school you won’t see it as abandonment. I’m not running away this time.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Only if you promise not to shut me out this time. I want us to be a family again, Sammy, no matter what happens with Dad.”

“I can do that. I’ll even send you my schedule so you’ll know, if I’m cold at a certain time, it’s ’cause I’m in class.”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. “That’ll help, yeah.”

“Then yeah. We’ll be a family again.”

“Thanks. Seriously.”

“Though... if Dad hadn’t told me to not come back... I would have contacted you.”

“Hell, I knew where you were. Came down to keep an eye on you a few times. Just wish you’d have answered your phone when I tried to call.”

“That’s why I’m giving you my schedule—so your timing will be better.”

“I wasn’t calling in the middle of the day, dude. I figured you had class.”

“I did. Astronomy.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Every night for three years?”

“For the first year. The next two were...well.” He blushed, and then his eyes went wide. “ _Every_ night?”

Dean shrugged. “Until I got tired of hearing nothing but your voice mail. And even then... Christmas, your birthday....”

“Dean, I thought... since Dad gave the ultimatum...”

Dean just looked at the floor and didn’t say anything.

“That was me thinking you wouldn’t care to contact me either. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Dean looked back up at Sam, clearly hurt. “You thought I _didn’t care_?!”

“I thought your calls were to try to make me come back. I was stupid and wrong.”

“I’ll say. How the hell—I never tried to stop you from going. Why would you—”

Sam looked out the waiting room window to the hallway. “... guess I’m more natured like Dad than I want to be.”

Dean sighed again. “Yeah, well.”

“Yeah.” Sam leaned his head against the glass wall.

And there they sat in silence until a different doctor came out. “For John Singer?”

“We’re his sons,” Dean said as they stood up.

“Which of you has power of attorney?”

“I do,” Dean said instantly. “This is my brother and he needs to hear it too.”

“We need for you to sign this, please.” She handed Dean a clipboard.

Dean looked at it. So did Sam, who navigated the legalese more quickly than Dean could and swore. “You want to keep him in the psych ward?!”

The doctor held up a hand. “Dr. Danvers passed on your explanation about what happened to your mother. But until Mr. Singer can retain a memory even of being told that justice has been done, he’s a danger to himself and to others.”

Dean looked at Sam, visibly unsure.

“Part of that danger is medical, gentlemen, because there’s a strong chance that after the biopsy, he won’t remember why he’s in the hospital. And I gather he has a history of ignoring his own health problems until they’re potentially life-threatening.”

Dean nodded at that.

“So if he checks out AMA and tries to go back to work—or worse, tries to renew his search for your mother’s murderer....”

Dean signed the papers.

“Um,” said Sam. “Did he say anything in particular that makes you think he might harm someone?”

“He keeps talking about hunting the bastard down.”

Dean sighed. “And he probably doesn’t have a clear idea of what the guy looked like.”

“Right.”

Sam grimaced. “If his memory keeps getting worse... yeah. Okay. Can we see him?”

“Just for a few minutes. They’ll start preparing him for the biopsy soon.”

They walked in, side by side, and there was their dad on the bed.

“Hey, Dad,” they chorused quietly.

John looked up. “Boys, thank G-d. We need to get out of here.”

They looked at each other and sighed. “No, Dad,” said Dean. “We can’t leave yet.”

“We have to. We can’t stay here. You know we can’t stay in one place—”

“You’re sick. They found a tumor in your brain. You need to let them do the biopsy.”

“A tumor?” John paled. “... okay.”

“The neurologist said you’ll probably have to stay at least overnight,” Sam added. “But if they won’t let us stay with you, we’ll be at Bobby’s.”

He took a deep breath.

“We’ll be okay,” Dean told him. “Bobby’s got the Colt, and the house is warded to the rafters.”

“He’s got the Colt? When?”

“Couple weeks ago—and you were there, Dad.”

“The tumor,” John whispered.

Dean nodded, and Sam spread his arms. “See? You need to stay, to get this thing fixed.”

“Okay.”

Sam huffed in relief, and Dean pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “We’d better go so they can prep you for the biopsy. But we’ll be okay, Dad. Promise.”

He nodded and watched them go before closing his eyes.

In the hall, Sam sighed. “Think we ought to warn them he’s an escape artist?”

“I do, yeah,” Dean echoed the sigh.

Sam nodded once and went to find the psychiatrist.


	6. What a Change

John actually smiled at his boys when they walked in two days later. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam said. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I have a solution.”

The brothers exchanged a look. Dean cleared his throat. “Solution to what, Dad?”

He looked at Sam. “Thank you for killing Azazel.”

Sam blinked and frowned. “You remember?”

“No. But I know it happened.” He held up a sheet of laminated paper. “I wrote it down.”

“That’s... that’s great. Great idea. But—that won’t fix the memory problem by itself. You’re still going to have to have surgery to remove the tumor, even if... if it’s benign.”

“I know. But this way I’ll remember what I need to.” He looked very young for a moment. “Right?”

Dean walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll help, yeah.”

“Thanks, son.”

They both looked up then as the doctor entered the room.

“Well, Mr. Singer,” the doctor said, “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“The bad.”

“Surgery’s the only option we have to treat this tumor. And of course, with brain surgery, there are always risks, and you may be off your feet for some time.”

“And the good news?”

“The tumor’s what we call a Grade I—it’s benign.”

Both boys spontaneously hugged John, and he hugged them back, sniffling. Then he added the new information to his list.

“Now, the other piece of bad news,” the neurologist continued, “is that it looks like it’ll be a couple of weeks before we can get you in for surgery. It’s for a good reason, because your case isn’t life-threatening, but it does mean you’ll be here a while longer.”

John opened his mouth, then slowly closed it.

“Dad,” Dean said quietly. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know. He’s dead, we’re safe.”

“And we’re not going anywhere,” Sam added.

“You are, Sammy.”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“School.”

“But Dad, Jess and I already promised Dean we’d stay through the end of the summer.”

“Oh.” John looked embarrassed at being a step or two behind again.

“Wait,” Dean said. “You’re saying... you’re _okay_ with Sam going back to Stanford?”

“It’s over,” John said. “Maybe....Maybe it’s time for it to _be_ over.”

Sam rubbed John’s shoulder. “Dad, I... I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m trying, Sammy,” he whispered.

“Thank you. I... thank you.”

“Dean needs a family more than I need to be right.”

The brothers looked at each other, unsure how to take that.

“At least... that’s what I’m coming to realize.” His eyes closed.

“Dad, are you sure you’re okay?” Dean asked.

“No,” John said. “I feel like things are turning inside out and I don’t know what’s going on.”

“We’re here,” Sam said. “We promise.”

“What if I never get better?” John whispered. “What if I can’t remember?”

“At least you’re alive,” Dean replied. “The rest we can deal with.”

John’s smile followed him into sleep.

The neurologist cleared his throat quietly and motioned for the boys to follow him to his office, where he explained the details of what would be involved in the surgery and how long it would take for John to recover.

Sam eased out of the office after that and walked outside, clawing his phone from his pocket and dialing Jess’s number.

“Hey, honey,” she answered. “What’s the verdict?”

He told her, surprising himself by starting to cry.

“Oh, Sam,” she replied, sounded kind of sniffly herself. “It could be so much worse.”

“I feel awful,” he whispered.

“How could you have known?”

“I keep thinking about going back to school... but Stanford is so far away....”

“Well, isn’t Luis about to get his pilot’s license? Maybe he’d be willing to fly you up here on weekends or something.”

“... aren’t you coming back, too?”

“To Stanford? Or here?”

“To Stanford.”

She chuckled wryly. “I think my parents would kill me if I didn’t. Besides, I need to finish my degree—if what Ellen tells me is true, the hunter house will need a fully licensed nurse!”

“But,” he whispered. “... oh my G-d, I’ve brought you into this life....” He dropped the phone and she heard him throwing up.

“Sam? Sam?!” She hung up and immediately called Dean.

Dean put the phone on speaker, shoved it in his pocket, and ran out to check on Sam, who was shakily pulling himself out of the shrubbery.

“I brought her into the life,” Sam sobbed.

“No, dude,” Dean replied. “ _Brady_ brought her into the life. You brought her to safety.”

“She wants to stay at the Home. I don’t know.”

“Sam,” Jess said, and Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket so Sam could hear her better. “Honey, do you really think I can walk away from these people—from your dad—knowing they need help? I mean, Garth alone....”

“I DIDN’T DO IT!” Garth chimed in.

“I just can’t see a place for me here,” Sam whispered, unable to talk loudly for his emotions.

“Don’t hunters need lawyers?” Jess asked.

“Not so much, no.”

“We need researchers, though,” Dean noted. “And you could help Bobby man the phones.”

“Or maybe you could retake that bio class,” Jess said. “You could be the Jack of All Trades.”

“I can’t change my major now,” Sam objected. “My scholarship’s only good for one more year.”

“My mom would hate me if I left school now,” Jess said. “I haven’t had the heart to tell her my scholarship ended.”

“Ended?” the brothers chorused.

“Yeah, it was a four-year scholarship and I have a five-year major.”

Bobby cleared his throat loudly, and Jess put her phone on speaker. “Okay, you idjits, get back here. I’ve got an idea how to settle all this.”

Dean nodded. “We’ll be right there. Just gotta get faucet-nose here cleaned up.” He grinned at the glare sent his way as he hung up. “Come on, Drippy.”

“Shuddup,” Sam snuffled but let Dean haul him back inside.

They arrived back at Bobby’s in half an hour.

Bobby and Ellen joined the boys and Jess at the kitchen table. “So, Sam,” Bobby began, “Jess tells me you’re havin’ second thoughts about goin’ back to Stanford with all this goin’ on with John.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Well, they ain’t exactly Ivy League, but Sioux Falls has a few good schools you two could transfer to.”

Jess looked excited at the prospect.

But Sam shook his head. “My scholarship won’t transfer,” he said. “I can’t move and I can’t change my major. I’m stuck.”

“Well, hell, boy, don’t you think you could get a merit scholarship anyplace else, with your grades and test scores?”

“Bobby,” Jess said suddenly. “He’s reeling and stuck in either/or.”

“Like Dad,” Dean said. “He is either ‘hunt all the time’ or ‘civilian and weak’. There’s no middle ground.”

Sam scowled, but before he could object, Charlie poked her head in the door. “Did someone say merit scholarship? ’Cause I’ve been looking—not that I really expect to be able to get in anywhere because I had to drop out of school because—well, anyway, Ash and I were talking, and he thought maybe...”

“Chase, Charlie,” Bobby said, their signal for ‘cut to it already’.

“Right. Scholarships. I’ve got some stuff printed out if you want to see.”

“I....” Sam said, looking around a little wildly.

Dean stepped up. “He needs to eat and rest. We’ll discuss this after.”

Charlie nodded. “Sure. Okay. Gotcha.”

Sam looked at her and swayed slighty.

Her eyes widened. “Sam?”

“Sorry, I don’t... Jess....” And he went down hard.

Everyone cried out in dismay.

Jess examined him and smiled. “He’ll be okay. Just needs rest and food.”

Dean grabbed his arm, but Ellen snapped, “Oh, no, you don’t, Dean. _I’ll_ get him upstairs.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You want to end up sharing a hospital room with your daddy?”

“... no.”

“Then step back.”

He stepped back, glaring at her.

She effortlessly pulled Sam over her shoulders and started toward the stairs. “You _may_ come tuck him in, but you’re not puttin’ any strain on that spleen until I say so.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I forgot about that.”

“I thought you had. C’mon, get the door for me.”

He followed, opening the bedroom door when they got there. For all her gruffness, Ellen put Sam on his bed very gently and stepped back to let Dean tuck him in.

Then Ellen reached up to rub Dean’s shoulder. “How is John?”

“It’s a brain tumor,” he said tightly. “Benign, but a tumor all the same.”

“Lemme guess. He’s terrified, but he won’t admit it out loud.”

“Damn straight.”

“And how about you?”

“... about the same.”

She pulled him into a hug. “We’re here, Dean. For you and Sam and John.”

“Thanks.” He sighed. “How are the kids today?”

“Chuck’s down with a migraine, so Garth’s takin’ the day off. Though I’m not too sure Chuck’s not fakin’ the migraine just to get Garth out of harm’s way!”

Dean laughed.

“And Ash seems to be doin’ better. Still sleepin’ a lot, but as dinged up as he was, it’s a mercy he’s as good as he is.”

“Good,” Dean sighed. “I’m feeling much better, Ellen. I don’t even need a nap anymore.”

“I’ll believe that in about two more months. You’ve already relapsed once.”

Dean grimaced. He was chafing at the forced inactivity, that was plain.

“Hey.” She put a hand to his cheek. “You need to eat, too. And then why don’t you and Charlie figure out how to get Sam transferred up here?”

He smiled and nodded, standing and walking out of the room. He hated research—but he’d do anything for his brother.

Anything.

He got back to the kitchen to find Jess and Charlie looking at a course catalog on Charlie’s laptop while they ate BLTs.

“Got me one?”

Bobby handed him a plate with a triple-decker. “Figured you’d need some extra, son. Been a hell of a morning.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” he sighed and sat down. “Ellen sent me down.”

Bobby sat down beside him with a BLT of his own. “Ellen’s thinkin’ of movin’ up this way herself. Her daughter’s itchin’ to be a hunter, but Ellen thinks helpin’ out with the hunter house should keep Jo out of trouble.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Charlie, after I eat, I’ve got a job for you.”

Charlie perked up. “Me? Sure.”

As he ate, he filled her in.

Charlie nodded. “Jess and I were just looking at U of Sioux Falls; they’ve got a good nursing program. I’ll see how their pre-law program looks, too.”

“Still don’t know how much good he’ll do there,” Dean sighed.

“W-ell, he wouldn’t have to stay pre-law. I just thought, y’know, since he’s got most of those courses already... they’ve got a Criminal Justice program, though, and Paramedic Technology.”

“That crazy 90-flunker would love a double major,” Dean grinned.

Jess laughed.

“I’d help as much as I could,” Dean said.

“’Course,” Bobby drawled, “you _could_ see about goin’ to school yourself. Southeast Tech’s got a mechanical engineering program.”

“Nah, that ain’t for me.”

“Could be a job in it for you.”

Dean blinked, looking at him with huge eyes.

Bobby shrugged and picked up his soda. “Just a thought.” But his eyes were sparkling as he drank.

Dean didn’t say a word for hours.

Sam slept hard for about three hours before finally stumbling downstairs to join the others in the kitchen.

Charlie waved to Sam cheerfully. “Hi, Sam! We’ve got it all worked out!”

“All what worked out?”

“How you can transfer!”

“Charlie,” he sighed. “It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not! Look, here are all the credits that will transfer, and here’s a list of scholarships you’re eligible for.”

Humoring her, he looked—and sat down, eyes widening as he looked at the list that seemed to go on and on and on.

“And I’m _sure_ you can get in. This school has a whole program for helping people finish their degrees. It’s a _lot_ cheaper than Stanford, too.”

“Charlie... Jess?” he turned to his girlfriend.

“It can’t hurt to try,” Jess said.

“Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “Dude, don’t look at me. Bobby’s tryin’ to talk me into going to school myself, and I... guess I’m having trouble getting my head around the idea.”

“You? You can do it,” Sam said. “You’re smart enough.”

Dean ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Tell you what,” Sam said. “If you try it, I’ll try it.”

Dean looked up, startled—and then smirked. “You’re on, little brother.”

Sam held out his hand. “Lemme fill that out.”

Charlie grinned and handed him the paperwork.

He faltered less than a minute later. “What address do I put down?”

“This one,” Jess said. “That’s what Bobby told me to do.”

“What is this address?” He looked over at Dean’s and nodded, copying it.

Dean faltered next. “I... I don’t remember my SAT scores.”

“Do you remember mine?” Sam asked.

“’Course.” Dean rattled them off.

“Yours was only 20 below mine in English, and ten below in Math.”

Dean blinked. “How do you...”

“Because it was you and I was so proud of you.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Dude, I th-thought... I tossed that paper and the acceptance letter from Georgia Tech.”

“You got in? Awesome!” Sam’s whole body lit.

“But Sammy, that was... that was seven, eight years ago.”

“That was one of the reasons I fought so hard for this—because you gave it up and I saw how it affected you.”

Dean sighed heavily.

“And....” He suddenly looked down, fidgeting with the pen

“What?”

“Do you think it’ll help Dad, having us together and close?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Long as he remembers we _can_ stay put now, yeah, I think it will.”

Sam looked over at Jess. “You okay with this?”

Jess nodded. “I’ll miss our friends at Stanford, and Mom might not be happy about me transferring this late, but... you need to be here for your dad, and I want to be here for you. And like I said, there’s work for me—for _us_ —here.”

Sam smiled at her and went back to filling out the paperwork. Then he blinked. “... hold on— _double_ major?” He looked up. “Charlie?”

Charlie grinned deviously.


	7. Yesterday's Gone

John looked up and blinked at his sons and Jess as they walked into his room a few days later. “This is Jess?” he asked.

“Yeah, Dad,” Sam replied. “You met a few weeks ago.”

“I remember a pretty blonde that’s Sam’s girlfriend,” John nodded.

“That’s me,” Jess said. “Jessica Moore.”

John smiled at her then turned to Dean. “Dean, I need to know if this is true. I’m sorry I keep asking. The... murderer. Dead and we’re safe?”

Sam smiled. “He remembered that he keeps asking!”

“That’s an improvement,” Dean agreed with a chuckle. “Yeah, Dad, it’s true.”

John relaxed. “They’re giving me some medication that’s supposed to help my memory, help me focus.”

“Good. Is it helping?”

“I don’t know. I put the paper aside this morning to see what I really remember. I remember Dean-o here got _real_ sick and then we went to help some dentist and then the kids just kept coming and there’s a house we all live in and then we went to get Sam for some reason and he killed the... YED.”

The boys exchanged a look. “Well, that’s more than nothing,” said Sam.

“There’s still _huge_ gaps....” John licked his lips. “But I found this in my hand when I woke up earlier.” He held up a note with a time and date on it. “I don’t know what this is, but it feels important.”

It was the next day at 9 AM, and it was on the doctor’s stationery.

“Think that’s when his surgery’s scheduled, Jess?” Dean asked.

“It looks like it,” Jess said. “Let me go find the doctor and confirm.” She smiled and left the room.

“Jess knows,” Sam told John once the door was closed. “The reason you came and got us was that another demon tried to kill her on Azazel’s orders.

John nodded. “Glad we beat that son of a bitch.”

“That makes three of us,” said Dean.

Jess returned. “Yeah, that’s the date and time of your surgery, Mr. Winchester. They’re going to come in soon for pre-op.”

John sighed in relief. “Thanks, Jess.”

“We’ll stay here and be your memory,” Jess suggested.

“Good idea,” Sam agreed. “Between the four of us, we should get everything.”

Dean nodded. “We’ll get him right as rain.”

John ran a hand over his face. “Dunno what I’m gonna do when you kids head back to Stanford.”

“We’re not going back,” they chorused.

John frowned. “What?”

“Relax, it’s all okay,” Dean said.

“We’ve got it all worked out,” Sam added. “Jess and I are transferring to a school up here, and Dean’s going to an engineering school here in town.”

“ _Christo!_ ” John hissed out.

“ _Dad_ ,” the boys chorused.

“... sorry, it’s just....” He ran a hand over his face. “Dean, too? Transferring? I feel like I’m out of the loop.”

“Well, it did happen kind of suddenly,” Jess admitted. “We just finished setting it up yesterday.”

John nodded. “That would be why I don’t remember this. I was here.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and we were at Bobby’s.” He paused. “There’s a lot happening at Bobby’s right now, Dad, but we should probably wait to fill you in until after the surgery, so you’ll remember it better.”

“Yeah, maybe. Boys... proud.” And his eyes closed. Clearly, his body’d had enough.

Now it was Dean’s turn to run a hand over his face. Jess ran a hand over his shoulders.

The neurologist came in a few minutes later, waking John. They all looked up at the doctor, waiting.

“Mr. Winchester, how are you doing this afternoon? Do you remember me?”

John frowned. “No, and my name’s Singer.”

“This morning you informed me it was Winchester and you wanted your boys.”

“I did no such thing!”

“So which is it?” he asked Dean. “Is it Singer or Winchester?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You tell me. _CHRISTO!_ ”

He flinched slightly, eyes shifting to black and back.

“ _Exorcisamus te_ ,” Sam began.

“No, please! You don’t understand!”

John held up a hand. “Let’s hear this. But you lie to me, hell-spawn, and I’ll let my son finish what he started.”

“I won’t, I promise. Azazel placed me here to watch over Sam’s family. I was to report to him when you showed up. And I am to make sure you survive so Sam can reach his potential as the Boy King. Azazel is dead, and I don’t want to go back to Hell! I will go anywhere else if you don’t exorcise me! I will trade information for my survival!”

“Information like what?”

“Like where the other demons in and around Sioux Falls are!”

“Talk!”

“There are fifty-eight of us. I will list them, then I will leave, I swear!”

“FIFTY-EIGHT?!” the whole family roared.

“There were fifty at Stanford....”

Dean swore bitterly.

“There’s now ten there. The other forty followed you here. Azazel is gone; we are leaderless. Most of us will abandon our posts,” he wrote as he talked. “Because he was all that was holding us together.”

“Why should we believe you?” Jess asked, eyes narrowed. “Demons lie.”

“Yes we do,” he admitted. “But I’m hoping the truth will let you set me free!”

“Write faster,” John ordered.

The demon gulped and did so.

But Dean looked over the beginning of the list—and pulled his gun with a snarl. “It’s lying!”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

“First name on the list is Bobby Singer.”

Sam’s lip curled much like their father’s, and he rattled off the exorcism. The demon choked and whined and pleaded, but Sam didn’t stop. Jess flung the window open and the black smoke was soon gone. The doctor reeled, and Dean stowed his gun before the doctor could see it.

“... which is it,” he panted, eyes glazed. “... Singer... Winchester....”

“Singer,” Jess said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “John Singer is your patient. Right, John?”

John nodded. “Right.”

Sam got the doctor a cup of water. “Here. This’ll help.”

“Thanks....” He sighed. “Thanks.”

“You all right, Doc?” John asked.

“Yeah. This whole day... man, it’s a blur.”

“Happens,” Dean said. “So you here to get my dad ready for his operation?”

“Yes, I am. Let’s check you out, Mr. Singer.”

The kids stood by as the doctor performed his checks and explained what would be involved in the surgery. He went over possible hazards and recovery times. John listened, writing it down. And then the doctor said he would send someone in to shave John’s head.

John blanched, but Sam spoke up. “Uh, Doctor, do you mind if one of us does it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Want us to use their clippers, Dad, or want me to run home and get mine?” Dean asked.

“Theirs is fine,” John said.

“I’ll have the nurse bring in the kit,” the doctor promised and left.

Half an hour later, John’s thick curls were a thing of the past. Sam carefully swept every scrap of hair into a bag to take home and burn, just for everyone’s peace of mind. John wrote down why he was now bald just so he wouldn’t be angry over it the next day.

Dean rubbed John’s shoulder as Jess put the clippers away. “You gonna be okay, Dad?”

“Time will tell, son.”

“I know, but... I mean, for now.”

“I should be.”

“We’ll come back in the morning, try to see you before they take you back.”

“Thanks, son. Good night.”

Dean blinked. “Good night? It’s—” But John was asleep before he could finish the sentence.

Jess chuckled. “Relax, it’s common.”

Dean sighed. Then he spotted the Sharpie John had been using to update his list. He picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“I dunno how that demon got in,” Dean said quietly. “And I don’t know how much we can do to ward this room in the meantime. But I can keep one from getting into Dad.”

Sam nodded.

Very gently, Dean undid the top of John’s hospital gown far enough that the left side of his chest was mostly bare. Then Dean uncapped the Sharpie and cautiously but quickly drew a sigil—a pentangle in a sunburst—on John’s skin.

Sam nodded and Jess asked, “What’s that?”

“Somethin’ Bobby showed me the other day. It’s an anti-possession sigil.”

“Think we should all get one?” Sam asked.

“What, like a tattoo?”

Sam nodded.

Dean shrugged with his eyebrows. “Can’t hurt.”

Jess nodded. “I’m in.”

Dean capped the marker and started to set it down before something occurred to him and he pointed it at Sam. “You know who should _definitely_ get one?”

“Me?”

“Well, yeah, but not who I was thinking of.”

“Who, then?”

“Garth.”

“Garth?” they chorused, frowning.

“With his luck?”

Jess started laughing.

* * *

By the time they reached the hospital the next day, John had already gone up to surgery.

Dean paced in the waiting room, and while Sam stayed seated, his knee bounced like it had a mind of its own.

A nurse came out after they’d been there for two hours. “Everything is going well.”

“Going?” Dean exploded. “What the hell is taking so long?”

“The brain is a delicate thing, Mr. Singer.”

Dean turned away and ran a hand over his mouth.

“The surgeon wants to make sure she gets it all.” She. Not he.

The brothers frowned, but it was Sam who spoke up. “The neurologist we met is a man.”

“Yes, Dr. Danvers. But after he was... compromised?... Dr. Redmond stepped in.”

“Compromised? What—how do you mean?”

“You know....” She motioned a cloud going into his throat. “You were there.”

“ _CHRISTO!_ ” Dean bellowed.

Her pretty blue eyes didn’t change. She smiled at him. “No, not me. I’m human.”

Jess frowned. “But how do you know about....”

“He told me.”

“Yes, but how do you know what it was?”

“He told me that, too.”

“So how did he know?” the brothers chorused.

“You were there,” she repeated. “You talked about it with your father. He stayed outside the door.”

Sam sighed heavily, but Dean kept frowning suspiciously at the nurse.

“So I’ll keep you up to date.”

“Thank you,” Jess said.

She nodded and left the room.

“Ease up, will you, Dean?” Jess chided softly. “You said yourself the demon yesterday was lying about the intel he was offering us.”

Dean groaned and flopped into a chair.

Sam sighed again. “It’s not like we don’t have a reason to be on edge. I mean, demons aside... this is Dad’s _life_ we’re talking about. And they didn’t even call us to tell us about the change in surgeons.”

“Right. But that doesn’t mean it’s an attack,” Jess put in.

“I know. It’s just... when you’ve been attacked for real as often as we have....”

“You see threats everywhere.”

“We can’t help it. I tried so hard to let go of that at Stanford, to believe that for once I was really safe. Now I know I wasn’t.”

She hugged him.

He returned the hug. “You really think it’s not anything to worry over?”

“I’m just saying not everything is demonic attacks.”

“True,” Dean said. “There’s also werewolves, skinwalkers, shtrigas....”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam interrupted.

Jess rolled her eyes.

Sam got up. “I’ll go get us some coffee. Be right back.”

Jess sat in his seat with a sigh.

They were still sitting there in silence when Sam returned—followed by a woman in bloody scrubs. Dean straightened, on high alert.

She smiled. “He’s in recovery,” she said with no preamble. “We got the entire tumor.”

“And you are?” Dean prompted.

“Dr. Elaine Redmond.”

Sam met Dean’s eyes and nodded once. She was clean.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out again. “You... got it all, you said?”

“We got it all. It is about as big as a small egg.”

Dean swore quietly.

“How well do you expect him to recover?” Sam asked.

“The brain is a tricky thing,” Dr. Redmond said. “We honestly won’t know till he wakes up what his condition will be or what prognosis we are looking at.”

“How soon can we see him?”

“Give it a couple more hours,” she said.

“Not—not to talk to. Just to see that he’s okay. Maybe that sounds stupid, Doctor, but he gave us such a scare....”

“I can’t allow you in the room—but I can let you look through the door for a few minutes. Give us about twenty to get him situated and I’ll send Betty down to get you.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

The nurse came back just about twenty minutes later. She led them to the room and allowed them to observe as she went in to aid with his getting settled, leaving the door open a crack behind her. John’s head was bandaged, and he looked pretty pale, but he was breathing just fine.

Sam quietly murmured the exorcism, but none of the personnel in the room reacted. He did hear a soft hiss down the hall, however, and a woman about his age swayed.

Dean went over to her. “You okay, miss?”

“Make him stop,” she hissed, black eyes looking up at him. “Make him _stop_.”

“No dice. You tell the rest of ’em to leave us alone, you hear? Or you’ll _all_ end up like Azazel.”

She nodded. “I will.” She turned shakily back to the vending machine and resumed her search for change. “We don’t want to die.”

“Next one of your kind I find sniffing around my dad will.”

She turned to him and her eyes were brown. “I just came for a soda!” She got it and turned to go. “But I’ll pass that along, too.”

He frowned. “What—”

“What?” she asked from the stairwell doorway.

“What the hell were you doing here if you weren’t after my dad?”

She shook her head. “My... host?... her sister is downstairs having a baby. I just came up for a soda from the closest machine where I didn’t have to go down in the crowd.”

“But why—”

“I was assigned to watch Sam Winchester’s family. I stay dormant, sleeping, until some fool boy decides to start an exorcism. And with Azazel gone, I could care less about the ‘job’. Once this baby’s born, I’m outta here. And I will pass the message.”

“— _audi nos_ ,” Sam finished.

She winced, but didn’t smoke out.

“What the _hell_ are you?” Dean snarled.

She showed him a necklace. “Binding link. I’ll remove it once the baby’s born.”

“You’d better,” Sam said in an even, dangerous tone. “Or I’ll remove it for you.”

She nodded and left.

They watched her go, and then Jess pulled out her cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.

Jess held up a finger as she waited for an answer. “Charlie? Hey, it’s Jess. We’re fine, but I think we have a job for Garth....”

About 90 minutes later, Garth arrived with the same woman—who walked differently, and her eyes were a little confused.

“Hey,” Garth said. “This here’s Anita. Anita, these are my friends, Sam, Dean, and Jess. They’re the ones who wanted me to check on you.”

“Hey,” she says. “I don’t know why, but I have a strong urge to give this to you.” She put the binding link necklace into Sam’s hands.

The creature had kept her word.

Sam sighed. “Thanks, Anita. We’ll, um... take care of it.”

She smiled and looked at Garth. “Thank you.”

Garth smiled back. “Can I get you some coffee or anything?”

“Thanks, I’d like that.” They walked off together.

“Huh,” Dean said as they disappeared into the stairwell. “Guess he’s not totally useless after all.”

“He definitely has the magic touch with victims,” Sam nodded.

“Think we should keep him?” Jess asked Sam.

Sam chuckled.

Dr. Redmond came out of the recovery room then, smiling. “He’s awake and asking for you.”

Dean nodded, relieved. “Thanks, Doc.”

She nodded back, and they went inside.

John smiled broadly at them as they walked up to the bed. “Hi, boys.”

“Dad,” they chorused.

His eyes slid over to Jess. “And... sorry, sweetheart, I don’t remember your name.”

“Jess,” she said. “Jessica Moore.”

He nodded. “... Sam’s girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did.... Did they get it?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir. They got it all.”

“Good.” He yawned. “Sorry. Don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Hell, Dad, you just had the surgery. Anesthetic’s probably still wearin’ off.”

He nodded and rested his eyes.

“You doin’ okay, though?”

“I seem to remember... freedom. He’s... dead.” And John was asleep.

Sam sighed in relief. “I think he’ll be okay.”

“Here’s hoping.” Dean’s cell rang and he left the room. “Yo,” he answered.

“Hey, it’s me,” Charlie said cheerfully. “I got news.”

“What’s up?”

“You’re in. You and Sam and Jess. You’re all in.”

Dean almost dropped the phone in shock. “T-to college?”

“Yup. You’re welcome.”

“Charlie, I owe you for this. Seriously.”

“I know,” she laughed. “But the scores I entered were all real, all yours. You did the hard work. I just pulled a few cyberstrings.”

“You’re amazing. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“I love you, too, Dean.” And she hung up.

Beaming, he turned back to the room and beckoned for Sam and Jess to follow him outside.

“You’re smiling,” Jess said. “Good news?”

“Great news.” Dean held up his phone. “That was Charlie. We got in—all of us.”

Jess grinned. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“Not for you two,” both brothers chorused. They then looked at each other, blinking.

Jess laughed heartily.

Then the nurse came out and asked them to go home—there was nothing they could do, and the hospital would be keeping John for a few more days.

“Home,” Sam mused as they walked out to the car. “Been a long time since we all had someplace we could call home.”

“I know,” Dean sighed. “And now we do.”

“Guess I should call Luis,” Jess said, “have him and Becca pack up our apartment and bring us our stuff. I don’t think we’ll be going back to Palo Alto anytime soon.”

Sam nodded. “Good idea.”

Dean smiled. “Okay. Let’s go home.”


	8. Epilogue: Red Rubber Ball

By the time John was released from the hospital, it was clear that he had begun to retain short-term memory once more. However, the incidents regarding the death of Azazel and the weeks surrounding it were forever gone. Yet between the knowledge that Azazel was dead and the help he had gotten in the hospital, both therapy and the removal of the tumor, he had regained a cheerfulness and hopefulness that Sam and Dean had thought they’d never see in him again.

He threw himself into the Home when he was released. It seemed to give him purpose. He still had a long recovery ahead of him, but there were administrative tasks that he took on, freeing Bobby and Ellen to do more on the hunting side of things.

Both his boys entered school in the fall. He was proud as could be—and said so, which nearly gave Dean a heart attack. In fact, Dean secretly ran tests on him to make certain he wasn’t possessed. Turned out, he wasn’t.

Over the next several months, the hunter house took shape. Ash started pitching in once he was well enough to swing a hammer, and Rufus helped out whenever he stopped by.

Other hunters took notice and came to help when they could—within reason. Of Gordon Walker and his ilk, the home’s residents swiftly noted that they were violent just to be violent and full of hate, not revenge.

Garth actually went toe to toe with Walker at one point when Walker made a snide remark about Charlie. And when it turned physical, those long lanky limbs turned out to be surprisingly flexible and strong. Walker eventually pulled a knife—and found himself on the business end of about six shotguns.

“What kind of freak are you?” he snarled. “Huh? What kind?”

“The same kind we all are,” Dean growled back. “He’s a hunter.”

“Really? Well, there are rumors about your little brother floatin’ around—”

“We’re aware,” John interrupted, walking out to face the pair.

“And for your information,” Bobby added, “Sam _killed_ the demon when it came for him.”

Walker’s eyes narrowed. “... yeah? That’s a new wrinkle... means there’s nobody to stop him when he goes darkside.”

“Darkside this, buster,” Charlie snapped and shot Gordon square in the chest with salt rounds—both barrels.

“Charlie!” John barked. “Stand down!”

“But—”

“I said stand down! This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!”

Charlie lowered her weapon.

“Get off my property, Walker,” Bobby growled. “And if I hear you’re in Sioux Falls again, you’ll get a hell of a lot more than rock salt.”

“This isn’t over, Singer. You’ve got a time bomb in your midst—that boy is prophesied to—”

“That boy,” John ground out, his voice carrying without being raised. “Is prophesied to finish his education and be the best human being he can be. Period. Everything else—demons _lie_ , Walker. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

Sam smiled in spite of the situation. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Don’t thank me,” John said. “It’s just the truth.”

“I’m just glad you can see it.”

“You’re my son. End of story.” He stepped closer to Sam and watched Walker slink to his truck.

Bobby called Sheriff Mills to come make sure Walker left the county.

John laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder while he announced to the small knot of people, “Okay, show’s over. Everyone inside. Garth, come here for a second.”

The group dispersed, aside from Sam and Garth.

Still with his hand on Sam’s shoulder, John said, “Garth, you did a fantastic job out there. Who told you that you could use your natural persona to be underestimated?”

Garth ducked his head with a shy smile and shrugged. “Nobody. It just sorta happens.”

“Well, keep it up. You want the fuglies to underestimate you, dismiss you as a threat. It’s great camouflage.”

Garth brightened. “Really?”

“Really. You did good.” He jerked his head. “Now get inside before Bob comes lookin’ for you.”

Garth beamed and hugged John before running inside.

“That kid,” he sighed, then turned to Sam. “You okay? That was one load of bull Walker was shovelin’ your way.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Sam confessed. “It’s just... such a shock to hear you giving praise and... and standing up for me.”

“Yeah, about that.” John sighed. “My memory of the last few years is spotty but it seems that I was more drill sergeant than father. It’s too late to change the past, but I’m hoping we could make a new start.”

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. “I’d like that.”

John turned them both toward the Home. “School goin’ okay?”

“Great. Turns out, I even have a couple of Paramedic Tech classes with Jess.”

“And how’s Dean doing? He seems happier than he’s been in... forever.”

“He really is, Dad. He’s thriving in that engineering program, and he loves what we’re building here at the Home. He’s even talking about going fishing with Garth next weekend.”

“You need to go with them. Put those two together, and either someone will get hurt or some laws will be broken.” But John’s eyes were laughing, even if his voice was trying to be stern.

Sam laughed. “Yes, sir.”

They were still chuckling when they walked into the Home and closed the door.

Just in time to feel the whole house start to shake and the hall closet door started to glow. “BOBBY!” John yelled, drawing his gun.

Bobby came running—as did Dean, Ellen, Charlie, Garth, Ash, Jess, and Chuck—and all arrived just as the closet door burst open and a man in a blue suit tumbled out. The guy rolled to his feet and looked around at the assembled company in wary bewilderment.

“Which of you is John Winchester?”


End file.
